No Brother of Mine
by TheSoulCollector
Summary: After an argument, Dean disappears leaving Sam to search for him - but the answer to where he's gone shatters Sam beyond anything he ever could imagine.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all, this is the first story I am posting on Fanfic and hopefully the updates with be fairly regular as I already have 17 chapters written. Hopefully everyone will give the story a chance and also enjoy it. Please let me know what you think as it means a lot to me. Hugs, Ember

_No Brother of Mine_

_Chapter One_

There are some things in life where no matter how hard a person tries, they just can't fix or take back. There are no do overs. No I really didn't mean its. What's done is done, and you must move on and try to rebuild from there. But even with that knowledge in the back of Sam Winchester's mind, he still tapped away at his computer keyboard searching for some way to get back the last two weeks of his life.

It had been two weeks since Dean disappeared. Two very long weeks. No one just disappears without a trace as if they never existed – but Dean did. Bobby, who had practically raised them both, had never even heard of him, and thought Sam was either going off the deep end or had been on a drunken bender when he'd called the older hunter to ask if he'd heard anything from Dean.

_Sometimes I really wish you weren't my brother. _Raking a hand through his hair in frustration, Sam pressed his eyes closed as he thought back to the last words he had spoken to his older brother.

_Yeah, well join the club, Sammy, cuz that's exactly the way I feel about you, too. _Dean had stormed off after uttering those words, and more than likely had gone out to some bar to get drunk. He did return to the motel later that evening. Sam had heard him shuffling around in his duffel bag for clean clothes, and had heard the bathroom door shut along with the water turning on. But in the morning he was gone. The room cleared out of everything that belonged to him. The only thing remaining was the Impala.

He should have said something. He should have told Dean he didn't mean what he had said, but he just laid there pretending to sleep. Both of their tempers had been flaring from the moment they had returned from saving their mom and dad in the past. Although they had managed to save their parents from Anna, what good did it do as they still died eventually – the Yellow-Eyed demon still came into Sam's nursery and killed their mother, and their father still made a deal with the demon to save Dean's life. Michael had made certain of that when he erased both of their memories of the entire incident.

With a heavy sigh, Sam pried his eyelids open, and jumped, startled at the sight of Castiel. The fallen angel always had the nerve racking ability to appear out of nowhere at the least expected moment. The angel's lips were drawn downward in a frown, and as always there was the same inquisitive searching quality in his clear blue eyes. As usual, he wore the same blue suit with a matching blue tie that he had loosened until it hung low, which always made Sam wonder why he hadn't taken the damn thing off if it bothered him so much. His tan trench coat was as rumpled as ever, which all in all by picture book and church depictions, made him very unimpressive looking as far as angels went.

"You find anything out, Cas?" Sam asked as he pushed back his seat and rose to stand.

After a brief pause, Castiel gave a curt nod. "Yes, but you're not going to like it, Sam."

Sam braced his hands against the back of his chair, preparing himself for the worst. His stomach twisted in knots as silence filled the room, knowing if Castiel was hesitant to explain where Dean was, it had to be pretty damn bad. Swallowing hard against the thick lump that had formed in his throat, he uttered, "Where's my brother?"

For several more unbearably long moments, Castiel remained quiet, and then he turned his back on Sam. "Your brother – the man you know as Dean Winchester ceased to exist . . . Lucifer granted your wish – and Micheal allowed for it to happen."

Mouth dropping wide open, Sam's knees buckled and if it hadn't been for the chair he was holding firmly onto, he would have collapsed into a heap on the floor. "Th-they killed him?" he stammered, his mind reeling at the idea of an angel and demon taking Dean's life. "They killed my brother?"

"No," Castiel shook his head, and turned back to look at Sam, but couldn't quite manage to meet his gaze. "You can not kill what doesn't exist, Sam – the Dean you knew was never born."

"No, that's not possible." Sam searched his mind for a way to refute what Castiel had told him, and quickly lit on the most obvious reason of all. "Someone's lying to you, Cas, because if he never existed, he couldn't have possibly broken the first seal, which means Lucifer wouldn't be walking free right now."

Castiel lowered his head. "Someone else broke the first seal."

"My father," Sam breathed, and with that knowledge his legs gave out him, and he crumble to the ground. With tears blurring his vision, he looked up at the angel. "He traded his soul for me instead of Dean, didn't he?"

Ignoring Sam's question, Castiel said, "It wasn't a perfect plan, Sam," and then taking a step forward, he took hold of Sam's arm and helped him to his feet. "There were . . . wrinkles – things that can not be changed. The Apocalypse still is at hand . . . and Dean, he is still Michael's vessel."

"I don't understand." Shaking his head in confusion, Sam narrowed his eyes on the angel. "If my brother no longer exists, how could he still be Michael's meatsuit?"

"It is complicated." Brow furrowing, the angel pursed his lips. "Before they erased his history, they plucked his soul from him, and then Micheal went back through time, and placed it into an unborn child."

"You're talking about reincarnation?" Sam dropped down onto the chair, fearing if he didn't sit down, he would be on the floor again in any given moment. "My brother is someone else now?"

"Yes."

"So how do I get him back?"

"You can't. What's done is done and can not be changed."

"There has to be way," Sam's voice rose several octaves as he glared at the angel. "Take me back to the night before Dean disappeared, and I can make things right."

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I can't." With a weary sigh, Castiel pulled out a chair, and took a seat beside Sam. "I've already tried, and I just could not make it there to stop you from saying you wished you weren't brothers with Dean."

"Then we'll find another way . . . there has to be something we can do to fix this."

"I wish there was, but I have tried everything I could think of. Dean is gone."

"No, he's not gone!" Sam gripped hold of the edges of the table, and with anger driving him, he heaved it as hard as he could, sending it toppling to the floor. His computer along with several partially full cups of coffee crashed to the ground. On his feet in an instant, he fisted his hands in Castiel's trench coat, and dragged him to his feet. "If his soul still exists, then my brother is alive! So you better damn well tell me where he is!"

His threat was met with momentary silence, and then as he finally spoke, the angel grasped hold of both of Sam's hands, and pried then from his jacket. "His name is Drake Marlowe. He's lived twenty-one of your earth years, and the place he calls home is in Naples, New York."

Upon hearing where Dean was living, Sam strode from where he was standing, grabbed his duffel and began stuffing his belongings in the bag. Within a matter of five minutes, he'd packed everything, and had double-checked to make sure there was nothing belonging to Dean that he might have overlooked before now. His lips curled downward in a frown as he realized they had taken every single thing his brother had owned, only leaving Sam with his memory.

"Are you coming with me?" he asked as he hefted his duffel over his shoulder and headed toward the door.

"I would like to, but at the moment, I can not," the angel responded evasively, leading Sam to believe Michael was somehow the reason why Castiel could not come with him.

"Cas, you're the only one I've got," Sam said, hazel eyes pleading with the angel to reconsider, "I can't do this on my own, so you can't let them stop you from helping me."

"I can make you no promises, but I will do what I can."

"Fine, but if in the time while you're doing whatever it is you do, Michael somehow gets this new Dean to say yes to him, I'll be coming after you." With that said, Sam flung open the door, and stormed from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

So as promised a quick update. Hopefully everyone is enjoying the story so far!! Cookies and chocolates to those who read!! Let me know what you think as reviews are like puppy-dogs and lollipops to me!! hugs Ember

_Chapter Two_

Sam pulled into the village of Naples at around two-thirty in the afternoon, and was met with the sight of an ongoing fall festival which apparently was in honor of grapes of all things. Tents with billowy white roofs lined the street on both sides, and there was literally hundreds of people strolling along the sidewalks, and shopping at the makeshift galleries. The roadway had been blocked off to accommodate the milling people, and as it was the only route to the nearest motel in the area, Sam was forced to park the Impala in the packed parking lot of probably the only real bar in the area.

Although he already knew the bar was the logical choice to look for his brother, he still sat in the car for a few moments as he tried to decide if he should go inside the small tavern or walk through town first. The gut clenching truth of the matter was that he was terrified of what this new version of Dean would be like, and seeing the town where 'Drake' had grown up, only served to heighten his dread. It was picture perfect nestled amongst rolling hills, and not all that far from Canandaigua Lake. Neither Sam or Dean had ever been all that thrilled about any big bodies of water, knowing what might lurk below them, but Drake probably loved them. Hell, he probably water-skied, boated, and partied real hard all-the-while unaware his life was completely screwed from the moment he was born.

With a deep breath, he slid from behind the wheel, shut the car door and went inside the bar. It was definitely Dean's kind of place with a pool table off to the side, and a really cute brunette serving drinks from behind the counter. But for as packed as the parking lot was, the place was practically empty. The only patrons being an older man sitting at the bar sipping a beer, two more men, who looked to be in their late twenties at a table near the bathroom, and three bearded men, who were more than likely bikers, playing a game of darts.

Disappointment furrowing at his brow, he pivoted on his heel, and walked back out the door. The thought of trying to find Drake Marlowe amongst a street full of festival goers was less than appealing, but the gnawing feeling in his gut told him Dean was somewhere nearby.

Sam set off down the road, keeping his eyes open for – well, he wasn't quite sure what Drake looked like, so he kept his sights on any young male who looked to in their early twenties. And truthfully it sucked big time. At least a good third of all the people at the festival fit that description. So without knowing what else to do, every time he saw a young guy walk by, he called out 'Drake' to see if anyone would stop and turn around. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as people gawked and pointed at him, and he couldn't blame them.

Savory aromas of all kinds of food wafted through the air, and although starving to the point where his stomach rumbled loudly in protest, he stilled passed by food vendor after food vendor. But as he passed a vendor selling hamburgers, and idea struck him. Dean would never pass by a food stand, catch the scent of whatever was cooking, and not stop to get a bite to eat. So instead of wandering aimlessly, looking and acting like a crazy person, he could stake out the food tents.

He found a bench situated aways back from the crowds, took a seat and waited. And waited. And waited. Sure tons of young guys walked past him, but Sam was waiting for his heart to tell him which one was Dean. It turned out he didn't even need that though as he would have known Dean as Drake anywhere. It was Dean . . . or what Dean looked like when he was twenty-one . . . well, except for his hair which was a little longer and more shaggy than Sam had ever seen it before.

But although his facial features, body, and how he walked with a confident swagger were the same, this Dean was very different. He was smiling – and it was the kind of smile that touched the very depths of his eyes. And when he laughed, it was unlike anything Sam had ever heard before coming from Dean. It was real and genuine, not something he just did to hide the pain. But the biggest difference Sam noticed in his brother was that he wasn't guarded, wasn't looking over his shoulder to see if some danger lurked behind him. He walked in the center of a group of other guys and several girls, and he joked and teased with them as if he didn't have a care in the world.

The Dean he knew had been dragged under a long time ago, the weight of the world on his shoulders too much to bear, and it had turned him inside out until there was nothing left but a broken shell. Was it really fair to take this away from him? Hadn't he suffered enough? In his heart, Sam really believed he had, and would have gotten up, walked away , and would've never looked back, if he hadn't known Lucifer and Michael's end game plan for both of them.

As the group stopped at a burger stand, Sam rose to his feet, and trudged the distance to where they had gathered. Edging around two older women talking about grape pies, he fell in line behind Dean. And as he listened to him talking to them, ignoring his presence completely, he'd never felt so all alone life.

"An' then Jasper jumps out from behind the tree with this really cheesy horror mask on," Drake chuckled, animately flailing out his arms as he spoke, "an' Gary, dude, you shoulda seen him, he screamed just like a little girl. Then he took off, and damn, I've never seen him run so fast." With another hearty laugh, swung his arm back again to motion how his friend had taken off, and accidentally struck Sam in the shoulder.

Shifting to look at Sam, he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, dude, I didn't know anyone was behind me." Narrowing his eyes on Sam, he studied him closely for a moment as if trying to recall something, and then shook his head. "Do I know you from somewhere? You look really damn familiar, but I just can't place you." The smile faded from his features, and Sam saw sadness fill his brother's green eyes. "Are you one of Jake's friends by any chance?"

"Jake?" Sam stared long and hard at Drake, memorizing every line and detail of the face he had seen almost everyday of his entire life, and then slowly shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Oh, I just thought . . . ." his voice trailed off as his brow furrowed in disappointment. "You kinda looked about his age, maybe a little younger, so I thought you might have gone to high school with him."

Sam's heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach as understanding dawned on him. Jake was Drake's brother. "No, I'm not from around here." With his eyes still locked on his brother, he gestured around at the festival. "I just heard about the grape festival, and thought I'd check it out."

"Okay, I'm guessin' most people would've preferred Disneyland to downtown Naples, but whatever floats your boat, dude." With his returned humor, a light-hearted mirth filled Drake's eyes again. "Anywho . . . I just ordered the last two burgers they have . . . an' Bear," he gestured toward a guy who was every bit as tall as Sam, and had at least a good seventy pounds on him, "well, he pretty much wiped them out of everything else, but they do have some sort of tofu meatlike substance that they swear tastes like the real thing." As he laughed again, he feigned a shudder. "So good luck with that."

"Hey, Drake," someone called out, and Sam tilted his head to the side to glare at the man who had interrupted his conversation with Dean. "Man, we gotta get movin' it's nearly four-thirty," the scruffy-haired man tapped at his watch impatiently, "an' ya know what happened the last time we were late to the fire hall." His hazel eyes turned pleading as Drake stared longingly at the burgers on the grill. "Dude, I so don't wanna have to wash the firetrucks again, so get your ass moving, an' we can catch something to eat there."

"You're a firefighter?" Sam asked, although it made perfect sense to him why his brother would chose to fight fires as their mother had died in one. Although he hadn't realized it, he was making connections with a past he didn't even know he had. Somewhere deep inside Drake, Dean still existed. "It must feel really good saving lives," he added, hating himself for trying to force Drake into remembering a life that was best forgotten.

"Yep, Engine Company 54," Drake uttered with an air of pride, and gestured to a tattoo on his arm depicting a fire in the background with two crossing pickaxes and a helmet with the number 54 written on it. "An' there's nothing that can even come remotely close to the feeling you get inside when you know you gave your all so someone else would live."

Tears stung at Sam's eyes as he listened to his brother speak, and as he blinked a lone tear rolled down his cheek. "My brother Dean used to say the same thing – he wanted to save everyone, and he did. Anyone he set his mind to saving, he saved. But in the end, he couldn't save himself. So don't let that feeling fool you, Drake, because it's just an illusion."

With that said, Sam turned his back on his brother, and strode away as fast as he could manage through the crowds. As he walked, he angrily swiped away the tears blurring his vision. He wanted Dean back – wanted his brother to be the same person he had grown up with, fought beside, cared for, but did he have the right to take Drake's life away from him to get back what he had lost? And even if he somehow managed to convince the younger man that they were brothers, he still wasn't Dean.

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Drake watched as the shaggy-haired man plowed his way through the crowds, and felt his gut twist as he thought of the tears in the older man's hazel eyes. There was something about his eyes . . . something in the way in which he looked at him that was so familiar to Drake, he couldn't just walk away and forget about it.

"Bear," he turned to his best friend, and gave him a pleading look, "can you take my shift, I just remembered I've got something really important I've got to take care of."

"Dude, I was gonna go down to the lake with Cindy." Bear hitched a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the lake. "And I'm not even gonna try to pretend how creepy odd it was that you were hanging on every word that guy said." Concern etched Bear's brow as he met and held Drake's gaze. "I know how much you miss Jake, Dray, but you've gotta stop seeing him in every person you meet."

Drake's heart clenched painfully at the mention of his brother, and also the unwanted images of him dying in the war the reminder invoked. "He promised he'd come back, Bear, an' he never broke a promise to me." With his thumb and index finger, he rubbed away the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. "He said we'd fight fires side by side again once he came back from Iraq . . . I want my brother back – I want what they took from me."

"You know I love ya, brother man, but you're killing me here," Bear grumbled with a heavy sigh, "The last time I took your shift, Cindy didn't talk to me for two weeks – an' you know what that means, right? Flowers, groveling," he tapped off the list on his fingertips, "candy, groveling, fancy dinner . . . and did I fail to mention groveling?"

"Thanks, dude." Drake smiled, gripped hold of his Bear's hand, interlocking his fingers with his friend's, and as they both pulled away, they both pounded twice on their chests then pointed at each other. "Love ya, brother man."

"Yeah, I know you suck," he chuckled, "now get the hell out of here before I change my mind."

Drake worked his way through the crowd, and then took off at a dead run as he saw the older man opening the door of a black Chevy Impala. "Hey, wait up," he shouted, and the lanky stranger stopped short of getting inside the vehicle. When he reached the vehicle, he let out an appreciative whistle as he studied the old classic more closely. "Damn, this is a freakin' awesome car, dude."

"It belonged to my brother."

"Your brother has great taste in cars . . . ummm . . . I could keep callin' ya dude forever or you could tell me your name, and make this whole awkward situation a little less . . . well, awkward."

"I'm Sam – Sam Winchester."

Drake glanced downward and noticed Sam's hand was trembling as he rested it against the door frame. "Winchester, like the gun. Cool name." He smiled, but it faded as Sam looked him in the eyes. "I'm Drake Marlowe, and no matter how bad this might look, I swear I'm not trying to pick you up or anything."

For the first time since he had met Sam, the older man laughed. "Yeah, that would be awkward on way too many levels to even begin to try and explain."

Drake gestured toward the yellow sign posted near the road, and then grinned. "Seeing that we're standing outside of Bob's Tavern – real original name for bar, I know – but bad name aside, they make great chicken wings, an' I'm starving, so you wanna get something to eat and have a few beers?"

"You're sure you're old enough?" Sam asked with a quirk of his brow. "You look kinda young to me."

"Brother man, I'm twenty-one, an' the great state of New York even gave me a license to prove it."

"I thought you had to work?

"I did, but I asked Bear to take my shift."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Drake gave a shrug, and then with a nudge of his head, he headed toward the building as he called back over his shoulder, "You just seemed like a guy who was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I thought you looked like you could use a friend."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for reading and for all the great comments. So as I said before, another quick update, hope everyone enjoys, let me know what you think!! Hugs, Ember_

_Chapter Three_

"I tell you they have great wings here, an' you order a chicken salad, brother man, that just ain't right." Drake chuckled as he held out a spicy, saucy wing toward Sam. "Just try one," he shook the meaty wing at Sam's salad, splattering the red buttery sauce all over the lettuce, "an' I guarantee you'll never wanna eat that again."

"No thanks, I'm not a huge fan of greasy food," Sam responded, stabbing his fork into a piece of grilled chicken. As he took a bite of his food, he watched Drake through veiled lashes. He scratched at the back of his head when he was searching for an answer to something that puzzled him, and he bit at his lower lip when he was in thought. Both were very Deanlike gestures, and both caused Sam's heart to slam hard against the wall of his chest. But it was his soulful eyes which took in everything with a quiet understanding, that had every nerve in Sam's body quivering. "You're just like my brother, Dean . . . he'd always try to get me to eat greasy food . . . and he really believed peanut M&M's should've been considered a food group."

"Well, they probably should," Drake agreed with an enthusiastic nod of his head. "You got your peanut that I'm sure anyone would tell you is pure protein. Chocolate, which if I'm not mistaken contains milk, and the candy shell which is just an added bonus as far as I'm concerned."

Dragging a handful of French fries through a thick glob of ketchup, Drake stuffed them in his mouth and munched away and then washed them down with a long swallow of his beer. "So what do you do when you're not hanging out at small town festivals?" he asked between bites of his chicken wings, and with head bowed, he lifted his brows to looked up at Sam.

"I move around a lot," Sam replied evasively, not able to met his gaze as he quickly changed the subject. "How about you, how'd you become a firefighter?"

"It's sort of the family business." Drake picked the chicken bone clean and then licked at each of his finger tips to clean away the sauce. "My dad's the battalion chief, my brother Jake was a firefighter, and my mom's a paramedic. So I spent most of my weekends at the fire hall when I was growing up, then was I was old enough I joined up."

"Your mom and dad?" Sam hadn't meant for it to sound like a question, but for some reason he'd really believed Drake's parents would have been dead just as his parents were both gone.

"Yeah, you know the people who raised me . . . made me wash dishes and take out the garbage," he laughed, "and tormented the hell out of me every time I brought a girl home for dinner."

Sam's face fell, and he hurriedly lowered his head as tears once again filled his eyes. Drake had in his lifetime everything Dean had never had, and once again Sam questioned what right he had to take away his new life. "They sound really great."

"They have their moments. So how about you, your parents drive you nuts, too?"

"Ummm . . . they . . . they're both . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he pressed his eyes closed, and recalled vividly the memory of his mom and dad happily married while completely unaware of how badly their lives together were going to turn out. "I'll be right back," he hurriedly pushed out of his seat, and without another word, rushed toward the bathroom.

Once inside the restroom, Sam moved to the sink, turned on the tap and splashed his face with icy water. He had expected it would be hard to meet the person who housed Dean's soul, and had spent the whole trip to Naples readying himself for the pain it would cause him, but even with hundreds of miles worth of drive time, he was still nowhere near prepared. It was too damn hard, and Drake was too damn happy, and that made it all the worse.

Running his hands under the steady stream of water again, he raked his dampened fingers through his shaggy bangs, pushing them out of his eyes. _He's got family, friends, a real life, so why would he ever want to remember the life he had before? _Sam shut off the water, and bracing his hands against the vanity, he leaned in to get a better look at himself. Drake was right, he did look exactly like someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dark smudges rimmed his lower lashes, and his face was haggard with lack of sleep. His eyes had long since lost their sparkle, and appeared dull and lifeless. He might as well have been a zombie as he was just a shell, his former self beaten out of him until there was nothing left. But if Drake only knew everyone on Earth's fate rested squarely between the two of them, Sam reasoned he would look exactly the same way.

A sudden rapped on the door, pulled Sam from his thoughts. "Sam, I've gotta run," Drake called out to him from the other side of the door, and as he heard him, it was so reminiscent of Dean's voice, he almost would have believed it was his brother. Sam pulled open the door to see the younger man standing there with a questioning look in his green eyes. "Look, there's a major five alarm fire over in Prattsburgh, and they called in all available rescue companies, so I was wondering if there's any way you could give me a ride?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam's stomach muscles tighten at the mention of a fire. He'd lost both his mother and his girlfriend Jessica to fiery blazes, and so the thought of his brother willingly going inside of a burning building didn't sit well with him at all. "You're not actually going inside a burning building, are you?"

"I'm search and rescue, dude, so I can't very well save victims lives from outside the structure." Drake laughed good-naturedly as he clapped Sam on the back. "I already paid the bill," he added as he turned on his heel, headed toward the entranceway of the bar, and dragging his feet, Sam reluctantly followed.

Once situated inside the Impala with engine running, Drake gestured toward the road. "Take a right out of here, and it's pretty much a straight shot to Prattsburgh."

"Don't you need gear of some sort?" Sam asked, not about to move the car one inch until he was certain Drake knew what the hell he was doing. Gut instinct warned him not to allow his brother to go anywhere near the raging fire, and if Drake had been Dean, he might have listened, but he wasn't so he would probably just laugh off Sam's concern.

"Yeah, Gary's got my turnout gear in his truck as I was gonna catch a ride with him to the fire hall after we went to the festival. So we can we go already?" he asked, more than slight irritation edging his tone. "Cuz at this rate, I probably could've walked there faster."

"Alright, I'm going," Sam snapped as he backed out of the parking spot, threw the car into drive and peeled out of the parking lot. The dread feeling in his gut persisted the entire fifteen minute drive to Prattsburgh, and increased dramatically when he noticed thick black smoke rolling upward into the air, and glanced downward to see two buildings engulfed in flames. "Listen, Drake, I know you're probably gonna think I'm all kinds of crazy, but don't go into any of those buildings," he uttered as he pulled off to the side of the road and parked the car. Something was definitely wrong – not only could he sense it, but he could also see it in the wariness on many of the firefighters' faces as they worked desperately to contain the fire as it quickly spread to a third building. "There's something unnatural about this whole thing, I can feel it." More than prepared to use any means necessary to insure Drake stayed away from the fire, Sam gripped hold of his arm as the younger man flung open the car door, "So I'm asking . . . no, I'm begging you to stay out of there."

"It's my job," Drake roughly shook free of Sam's hold on him, "reports came in of people trapped inside of there, several of them firefighters, and I'm not about to let them die, Sam." With that he leapt out of the car, and made a run for a black full-size Chevy Silverado.

In a matter of minutes, Drake had grabbed his turnout gear, put on most of it, and as he raced toward what appeared to be a command center of sorts, he threw on his coat and helmet. Sam slid out of the car, and hurried over to a abarrier the police department had set up. Pushing his way through the growing crowd, he kept his sights locked on Drake.

SNSNSNSNSN

"Engine Company 22 went in before the building was fully involved, a section of the roof caved, trapping four men inside," Drake's father spoke hastily to catch him up to speed on the situation, "I sent in Jasper, Coy, Frankie, and Bear ta get 'em out of there, Coy an' Frankie got out just as another part of the roof came down."

"Bear's in there?" Drake glanced briefly at the engulfed building, and then looked back to his father. "I'm going in, Dad, I'm not gonna let him die in there."

After several moment's deliberation, in which time Drake could see the fear in his father's eyes, he finally gave a curt nod. "You've got five minutes – you don't find 'em, you get out. Got me?"

"Yes sir." Drake agreed, although in his gut he knew he wouldn't leave until his best friend was with him, and he knew his father would have done the same as him.

"Gary, Rico, Markus," his father shouted to the three other firefighters, "You're with Drake." They all gave a nod, and hurriedly prepared themselves to enter the burning building. "Two in two out. Five minutes. That's all you've got so make 'em count."

"Gotcha, Chief," Gary shouted back above the roar of the flames and the din of noise coming from all around them. "Drake you're with me," he added, before placing his oxygen mask over his face. "We'll enter there," he pointed toward a section of the building not entirely engulfed in flames, "Me an' Drake'll go in first, you two back us up," he ordered, and the two other firefighters nodded and fell in line behind Drake and Gary.

"How long's Bear been in there," Drake asked as he pulled his oxygen mask down over his face, guilt twisting in his gut at the thought that it should have been him trapped inside the fiery building instead of his best friend.

"Keep your mind on the game," Gary commanded, "You're no good to me if you don't." Ducking low beneath a burning piece of timber, the two firefighters entered the inferno as Rico and Markus stayed further behind, working to keep their escape route clear.

SNSNSNSNSN

With his heart lodged firmly in his throat, Sam watched helplessly as his brother entered the burning building along with three other men.

"We're not losing any men in there, so keep those damn lines on that exit!" the man whom Sam had seen speaking to Drake ordered, pointing toward where Drake had just entered the building, and with several nods, two teams of men trained their hoses on the exit of the building. "Ed, Frankie, Coy, Charlie, I want you at the ready if we need you to go inside there to pull them out."

"Gotcha, Chief," the four men uttered almost simultaneously, and for as weary as the appeared, they prepared themselves to go inside if the need arose.

Suddenly an eerily loud boom of an explosion resounded above the din, drawing Sam's attention further down the road in time to see a fireball blowing out the glass windows and doors of a welding plant. Multiple firefighters were blown off their feet, landing on the ground several yards away as a second explosion rocked the building's foundations. Fiery debris rain down on the street surrounding the now fully engulfed fourth building.

"Ray," the fire chief shouted to one of the police officers guarding the barrier, "move that line further back, an' get those people out of here!" He then returned his attention to his own men. "Charlie, get on the line with Bath, Springwater, Wayland and Cohocton, an' get 'em rollin' before we lose this whole damn town."

"Ladder company 65, get your men off that roof, her front is buckling an' she's gonna go!" Sam heard another fire commander shout into his walkie-talkie as he looked toward the roof of the third building in the fiery line. Glancing upward, Sam saw men working with pickaxes on the roof to properly ventilate the fire in hopes of preventing backdrafts and other hazards, noticed one of them nod in response to the command, but before he had the chance to gather the men together, the roof completely collapsed, dragging the men into the fiery pit below.

The fire was burning way too fast and hot to be controlled, and for as much as Sam had hoped it wasn't caused by some supernatural force, he knew better. And for as good as the firefighters were, and they were damn good at their job, too many of them were going to die if he didn't do something.

Glass shattered, blowing jagged shards into the street from the building Drake had entered with the other three firefighters. Fiery smoke rolled from darkened windows, and from amidst the flames a shadowy figure appeared momentarily, looked toward the crowd of onlookers before it disappeared into a shroud of smoke.

"Chief," someone shouted to the man Drake had spoken to when he arrived on scene, and motioned toward the left of the building, "her left flank is buckling, she's gonna go!"

The fire chief glanced briefly in the direction of the left outer wall, and then called into his walkie-talkie, "Rescue 54, get the hell out of there now!" Holding his walkie-talkie way from himself for several moments, he waited for a response, but when none came, he put the speaker back to his mouth again, "Rescue 54 respond," several more long moments passed by, wherein Sam pushed his way through to the back of the crowd, "Rescue 54 answer me . . . damn it, Drake, this is your father, so you better damn well answer me!"

SNSNSNSNSN

The heat was unbearable, more so than in any other fire Drake had ever entered before. It came in fierce waves against his protective gear, and he could feel the sweat rolling downward from his neck and beading on his brow. And even with the aide of his oxygen tank, his breathing was heavy and labored. He had no doubt Gary struggled with the same problems, but neither of them would turn back. Not now. Not with their friends still trapped inside.

Together, using their pickaxes, they forged a path through fallen timber, and when they realized they were running out of time, they used their hands to heave aside the heavy lumber. They both stopped periodically, looked around, checking their means of escape while also listening and searching for victims.

Drake took a step forward to resume their hunt for Bear, Jasper and the others, but Gary gripped hold of his arm to stop him. Shifting slightly, Drake saw his partner point toward right. "Over there, I heard someone. Head that way."

"Gotcha." Crouching low beneath two criss-crossing pieces of burning lumber, Drake made his way through the fiery maze of fallen debris with Gary following closely behind him.

"Rescue 54, get the hell out of there now!" came Drake's father's voice over his walkie-talkie. He pushed the button to respond, but before he could even open his mouth to speak, he was knocked flat to the ground by a heavy piece of falling debris. "Rescue 54 respond . . . ." Gary was at his side in an instant, hauling off whatever had landed on him, and extinguishing the red-hot embers on his jacket before they caught fire. "Rescue 54 answer me . . . damn it, Drake, this is your father, so you better damn well answer me!"

"You alright?" Gary asked, giving Drake a quick once over to make sure there were no apparent injuries.

"Yeah. Let's get Bear, Jas, an' the others out of here before my old man has a heart attack out there." Drake winced at the jarring motion as Gary gripped hold of his hand hand helped him to his feet. "Thanks, brother man. I owe ya one."

"You owe me more than one," Gary chuckled. "Now answer the chief before he has us both washing trucks for a month."

As Drake once again moved forward, he pushed the button to talk to his father. "This is rescue 54, victims are in sight, but we need more time."

The moment he removed his thumb from the call button, his father's voice came over the speaker again. "You were out of time five minutes ago, Rescue 54, the left outer wall is crumbling, the roof's gonna go. So get out of there now, an' that's an order."

Drake and Gary both glanced first at the left flank of the building then upward toward the ceiling, and finally at each other before they both shook their heads. Hitting the button, Drake spoke into the walkie-talkie again, "Sorry, Chief, but my father taught me never to leave a fallen man behind, so me an' Gary are gonna stick it out here for a lil' while longer."

SNSNSNSNSN

"Cas!" Sam hollered, not caring if anyone heard him, but with everyone's attention on the horrific scene unfolding in front of them, he had nothing to worry about. "Get your angel ass down here, cuz I'm not gonna let my brother die in there!" Within a matter of seconds, the angel appeared in front of Sam.

"This fire is – unnatural," Castiel said as he looked to the fire first and then glanced around before his gaze landed on Sam. "Death is here, Sam, and he brought with him many reapers."

"I've gotta get in there," Sam growled, gripping hold of the angel's trench coat, and yanked him forward so they were looking each other squarely in the eyes. "I don't care what it takes, you get me inside that building so I can get Dean out. Got me?"

"Drake's in there, not Dean," Castiel corrected, "but either way, you're right." Lifting a hand, he let two of his fingers hover within mere inches of Sam's forehead. "You get him, and get out. Understood?"

"I wasn't planning on having a tea party in there if that's what you're worried about," Sam uttered just as the angel touched his fingertips to Sam's head.

Wave after wave of dizziness crashed over Sam, and his breath left him in a heated rush as if someone had just kicked him in the gut. With everything around him shifting off-kilter, he pressed his eyes closed, and when he pried them open once more, he was surrounded by a fiery glow. Thankfully, Castiel had thought to provide him with an oxygen tank and protective gear.

With a quick look around for his brother, Sam spied two men on the ground a few feet apart from each other. One was struggling to push off a piece of lumber that had pinned him to the ground, while the other lie deathly still beneath a pile of fallen debris.

Shoving aside lighting fixtures, desks and molten metal chairs, Sam made his way to the two men. "I gotcha," he shouted above the roar of the flames, and gripping hold of the heavy piece of lumber, dragged it off the man. His heart clenched tightly within his chest as he crouched to get a better look at the man, and realized it wasn't Drake. Scrambling over to the other firefighter, he worked furiously to clear away the debris, and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it wasn't his brother.

"Is Jas alright?" the firefighter who Sam had helped moment's prior called out to him as he used his arms to drag himself toward Sam.

Sam shook his head as he looked to the man lying sprawled on the floor unmoving, and saw that his face mask had shattered. "No." Pushing himself to his feet, he grasped hold of the heavier man, hauled him to his feet, and wrapped an arm around his lower back. "Let's get you out of here," he said as the man struggled to break free of his hold on him.

"No," he adamantly shook his head, "I'm not leaving Jas behind!" Redoubling his efforts, the firefighter elbowed Sam in the stomach, and losing his grip on the his waist, Sam watched as he dropped to the ground again. "Jas!" he shouted to the fallen firefighter as he once again dragged himself to the man's side. Pulling off his face mask along with Jasper's broken one, he leaned in, tilted his head to the side and listened and felt for his friend's breath. "He's still breathing," he uttered, and hurriedly placed his face mask over Jasper's face. "You stay breathing for me, Jas, you understand? Don't you dare die on me!"

"He's not gonna make it," Sam fisted a hand in the man's jacket, and swung him around to face him, "an' this whole damn place is coming down around us, so either we move now or we're all gonna die in here!"

"Then go without me cuz I ain't leavin' him."

With a growl of frustration, Sam pushed the bigger man aside, gripped hold of the dying man, and hauled him over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. "Yer gonna have ta help me here, cuz I can't do this on my own," he ordered as he held out an arm, gripped hold of the firefighter's arm and dragged him to his feet. "Wrap your arm around him an' then wrap your other arm around my waist, an' whatever ya do, don't let go, an' I'll get ya both out of here."

With a nod of understanding, the firefighter quickly complied, doing exactly as Sam had said. With the weight of both men dragging heavily on his shoulders, Sam slowly moved forward toward what he hoped was the exit. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down into his eyes, blurring his vision and making it nearly impossible to see where he was going. His legs threatened to give out on him several times as the man at his side leaned more and more on him for support. Then just as his knees buckled and he dropped to the floor, dragging the two other men down with him, he heard his brother's voice.

"Central Command, this is rescue 54, we've found 'em an' are on our way out."

"Rescue 54," came a gruff masculine voice over a walkie talkie, "move your asses, an' that's an' order you'd better follow, son."

"Gotcha, Dad," Drake chuckled as he crouched beside Sam,and briefly looked him over. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah." Sam gave a curt nod. "But the other two not so much."

"Gotcha." Drake moved to assess the other two, and Sam heard him curse loudly before he ripped off his face mask and placed it over the bigger firefighter's face. "Gary, you take Jas, an' you," he pointed to Sam, "I need help carrying him."

Bone weary, Sam braced his hands against the floor and dragged himself to his feet. Between the two of them, they hauled the firefighter to his feet, wrapped their arms around his waist and carried him toward the exit with Gary carrying Jasper in the lead. Halfway to the exit, they met up with two more firefighters, and although both men tried to persuade Drake into letting them carry their friend the rest of the way, he refused.

To his side, Sam could hear his brother coughing and gasping for air as the thick smoke choked off his breathing. Then suddenly he was being dragged down as Drake collapsed to the ground, carrying along with him, the other firefighter and Sam. "Man Down!" Sam shouted to stop the other firefighters from leaving them behind, not sure if it was the right firefighter lingo, but not caring as long as it got the others to turn around to come back and help him.

The two lead men rushed back, and one of them grabbed hold of the man Sam and Drake had been carrying while the other made to help Drake. "I got my brother, you just get him out of here," Sam shouted, pushing himself to his feet. As he had seen the others do, he pulled off his face mask, and placed it over his brother's face. "Why do you always have to be the hero, Dean?" he asked, not expecting a response as he lifted his unconscious brother over his shoulder and into a fireman's carry.

With lungs burning with every breath he took, Sam followed the others as they made their way through the path they had cleared, and within a matter of minutes, they had breached the building. Several men hurried forward to help them get the injured men to awaiting ambulances, but Sam shook them off, not about to let go of his brother until he knew for certain he was safely away from the fire and on his way to the hospital.

But that idea didn't go exactly the way he had planned as another wave of dizziness knock him off his feet, face planting him into the cement. From all around him, he could hear people shouting orders or relaying information, and then felt someone place an oxygen mask over his face before he gave into exhaustion and drifted off to blissful unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey all, thanks for taking the time to read. I had planned to post this last night, but life happened...ugh!! Enjoy!! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Four_

"Hey Sam, wake up." Sam heard Dean call out to him, and then his brother nudged him on the arm to wake him.

"Leave me alone, Dean, I'm exhausted," Sam rasped as he rolled over onto his side.

"Sammy, it's Drake, wake up I have to talk to you."

Confused as to why Dean would say his name was Drake rattled Sam's mind, he rolled over and pried one bloodshot eye open to look at his brother. Then he blinked and opened them both wide to stare at the younger man. "Drake," he muttered as memories of his last words to Dean flooded his mind, "not Dean . . . can you just leave me alone?"

"Not until you tell me what you were doing in that burning building, not to mention how the hell you got in there," Drake said as he took a seat beside Sam on the bed. "You could've gotten yourself killed. So just what the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Did your friends live?" Sam asked instead of trying to explain how he had managed to get inside of the building as he doubted Drake would believe him.

"Yeah, thanks to you," Drake reluctantly admitted, "Although Jasper's in intensive care, an' they don't think he's gonna make it through the night."

"I hope for your sake he survives." Sam gave the younger man a weak smile before turning back over onto his side, not wanting to look at the younger version of Dean any longer. "Now can you just go, so I can get some sleep?"

"Rico and Markus told me you wouldn't let them take me out of there . . . they said you called me your brother and wouldn't let them anywhere near me."

"There was a helluva lot of noise from the fire, so they must've heard wrong." Tears stung at Sam's eyes, and as he blinked they rolled down the side of his face.

"I doubt they both heard wrong, Sam."

"I don't know what else to tell you." Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam swallowed hard against the sob lodged firmly in his throat.

"My mom always says if the lies aren't working for ya, maybe you should try using the truth," Drake pressed, not about to let the matter go.

"Yeah, well, my father always said trust only family, an' keep everyone else on a need to know basis . . . an' since you're not family, you don't need to know shit about me."

"Your father sounds like a real piece of work . . . need to know basis, what the fuck's that suppose to mean?" Drake slid off the hospital bed, and set to pacing as he tried to figure out why he was bothering with Sam. Sure the older man had saved his life along with two of his friend's lives as well, but there was something definitely off about him. His gut told him to walk away, leave him in his hospital room, and never look back. But for as much as he wanted to at the moment, he felt an odd connection to the broken man who was trying so hard to hide the fact that he was crying. Yet no matter how hard he tried to keep it from him, Drake still heard his muffled cries, and saw tremors course through his tall frame. "I may not be family, Sammy, but it seems to me you're a little short on people in that department, so I thought maybe you could use a friend."

"I don't need any goddamn friends," Sam spat furiously, flinging himself around on the bed to glare at Drake. "I need my . . . just get the out of here, an' leave me the hell alone!"

"You need Dean," Drake uttered, completing Sam's original thoughts, while ignoring his order to leave. He carefully slid onto a nearby seat, and gently rubbed at his bruised ribs. "What happened to your brother, Sam?"

"He's gone."

"How did he die?" Drake asked, hating the idea of prying into the details of Sam's brother's death as he had always hated explaining his own brother's death, but curiosity struck him hard and he couldn't let the matter go.

"I didn't say he was dead, I said he was gone."

"Then if you miss him so much, an' he's not dead, why don't you go find him?"

"I did find him," Sam uttered with a wry laugh as he looked Drake squarely in the eyes, "I looked him right dead in the eyes and there was nothing," he held Drake's gaze a few more seconds and then lowered his head, "but it really doesn't matter because no matter what I say or do – he's gone."

The hairs on the nape of Drake's neck bristled as a shiver passed through him, and he quickly bowed his head as well, wanting to look anywhere but at the man in front of him. "Maybe you just didn't try hard enough?"

"What the hell am I suppose to do, Drake, remind of him of the literal Hell he went through in hopes that he would think to himself, hey, that sounds like a fuckin' grand time think I'll give up my Leave it to Beaver happy ending family an' join on for that?"

"So you'd rather give up on him." Shaking his head in disgust, Drake pushed himself to his feet, and wrapped an arm protectively around his ribcage. "You're a real ass, Sammy," he stole a quick glance at the older man, and then turned his back on him, "cuz if my brother was still alive, I'd be moving Heaven an' Hell to get him back, an' God help anyone who tried to stop me." Anger overriding his concern for the man who had saved his life, he strode toward the door as he called back over his shoulder, "I'd never leave a fallen man behind, an' I'd never leave a family member who needed me . . . so I guess I'm just really grateful you're no brother of mine." With that said, he flung open the door and stormed from the room.

Muttering to himself, Drake stalked the corridor of the hospital, too furious to care if anyone heard him. And it wasn't until he was three-quarters of the way to Bear's private room that he noticed several people gawking openly at him, and heard the snickers of some of the younger females passing by him. With a glanced over his shoulder, he cursed under his breath, and hastily reached around behind his back to hold his hospital gown closed.

From the moment he had met Sam, he'd fallen back into feeling the same gut wrenching pain he'd felt when Jake had died, and it was quickly dragging him under again. Two years – two very long years and he was finally feeling really good about his life again, and then within the span of a few short hours it vanished. _I just have stay the hell away from him. _But it was easier said than done as even as he pushed open the door to enter his best friend's room, he grappled with the need to go back to Sam's hospital room.

"Hey there, brother man." Drake plastered on a smile, all-the-while knowing Bear would see right through it. "You're lookin' like hell," he added as he closed the gap between them, gripped hold of his friend's hand, interlocked fingers, then pulling them away, pounded twice on his chest, and pointed a finger at Bear as his friend did the same.

"Like yer lookin' any better, little man?" Bear chuckled lightly, but it died away to be replaced by a deep hacking cough.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Drake eyed his long time friend, reassuring himself that the bigger man was going to be all right. "All joking aside, Brian, you're okay, right?"

"Damn, you must be really worried about me as I haven't heard you call me Brian since I gained four inches and fifty pounds on you."

"Make that seventy pounds." Drake laughed, grateful for the distraction from his thoughts of Sam.

"Defensive line, needed that extra weight to take down lil' running backs like you."

Drake rolled his eyes. "If I were on the opposing team, you never would've caught me."

"Oh, that's right, Mr. All-County Track star," he lifted his hands and crooked four fingers in a hanging quotes gesture, "but just so ya know, running track . . . yeah, not really much of a sport."

Bracing his hands against the mattress, Bear pushed himself upward into a sitting position. His smile dying away, he eyed Drake for several long moments, and bit at his lower lip as if working up the courage to say something. Then he finally blurted out, "Can I tell you something, Dray, an' have you not laugh or think I'm totally outta my head?"

"Depends on what you're gonna say," Drake replied, remembering the time Bear had said he'd always wanted to dirt bike down the mountainside, and how badly that had turned out. And with that thought in mind, he lifted a hand to lightly trail his fingertips along the raised scar on his chest. "Because if it begins with the words 'I've always wanted to try' whatever, I'm definitely gonna laugh my ass off."

Shaking his head, he responded hesitantly, "No, it's nothing like that." Bear narrowed his eyes on him, and Drake's stomach flip-flopped at the absolute seriousness and fear he saw within their shimmering golden-brown depths. The last time they looked as they appeared now, it was at Jake's funeral, and Drake was forced to lower his head as tears filled his own eyes.

"Yeah, go ahead," he muttered, rubbing away the moisture that threatened to spill down his cheeks at any given moment.

"I know this is gonna sound all kinds of crazy, but he just appeared out of nowhere, Drake . . . one minute it was just me and Jas, an' the next thing I know, he's standin' there in full turnout gear."

Brows furrowing in confusion, Drake stared at his friend as he tried to piece together what he was going on about, but couldn't make heads or tails of what he was trying to say. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"That guy Sam . . . the one you met at the festival – I don't know how he got inside that building, but he sure as hell didn't use a door."

Ever since he'd woken up in the hospital, and found out it was Sam who had carried him out of the burning building, he'd been mulling over how it was possible. Someone would have had to seen him enter the structure, and more than likely would have stopped him. It had been drilled into his head from his very first day of fire rescue training, never go into a burning structure alone – two in, two out. Teams of four, two taking the lead to search for victims while two remained behind to keep a clear path, and to relieve the first two when the need arose. No one saw him enter, they only saw him come out, and if that was true, how the hell did he get inside?

"So what are you saying?"

"I dunno." Bear shrugged, chuckling nervously. "But when I first saw him standin' there in a fiery halo of flames, I would've sworn he was some sort of guardian angel for fallen firefighters – an' even more so after he hauled Jasper over his shoulder into a fireman's carry, an' told me not to let go of him and he would get us out of there."

"I was kinda thinking he might be Jake." The moment he spoke, he instantly wished he could take the words back as he saw the worried look cross Bear's face. "Don't look at me like that, Bear," he snapped, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. "Jake told me he'd come back – he promised, an' who better to be a guardian angel for firefighters than him?"

"Don't even go there, Dray. People don't come back, that's just not how it works." Gripping hold of Drake's arm, he yanked him closer and looked him searchingly in the eyes. "You're brother died in Iraq, an' you're just opening yourself up to a world of hurt again. . . so if you think I'm not gonna stand by an' let go through that kinda pain again, you got another thing coming."

"So you can believe in some sort of stupid guardian angel, but I can't believe my damn brother would keep his word?" Drake roughly shook free of Bear's hold on him.

"Damn it, Drake, this is the same kind of thinking that got you a six month stint in that mental ward up in Rochester. So, please, I'm beggin' ya, brother man, don't go there again, it hurt too much to watch you go through it the first time around."

Although deep down Drake realized Bear was right, it was still a kick to the gut to have the reminder of his time locked up in a mental institution. It wasn't his parents fault, they'd tried their best to bring about some sort of normalcy after Jake died, but Drake fell further and further into the swallowing darkness that surrounded him day and night. He couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. And in the end, he'd stopped talking all together. But just as always, when everything else had failed to snap him back to life, Bear had been there with his kick life's ass mentality, just as he had been there the first day of kindergarten.

"I know he's not Jake," Drake muttered, lowering his gaze to rest on his trembling hands, "an' I've already decided to steer clear of him, so can we move on." With a bob of his head, he motioned toward a huge bouquet of flowers on the bedside table along with a picture of Bear hugging a very pretty brunette. "I see Cindy's forgiven you."

Bear glanced briefly at the picture and then his gaze settled on Drake once more. "I asked her to marry me – an' for as crazy as it seems, she agreed."

"That's," Drake swallowed hard against the tight knot forming in his throat, "really great," he finished the sentiment, hoping he at least sounded halfway happy for his best friend, although he knew the frown creeping across his face would give him away. "I-I should get going," he hitched a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the door, "an' let you get some rest."

"I shoulda known you wouldn't be happy for me," Bear snapped, shaking his head incredulously, "Tell me when's the last time you got laid, Dray . . . hell, for that matter, when's the last time you had a freakin' date?" Jabbing Drake in the chest with his index finger, he went on to say, "You think you're fooling everyone . . . an' maybe you have fooled most, but I know you better than that – an' you're no better off now than the day your parents checked you into that nuthouse."

"I've had dates," he countered, purposely avoiding the issue of his sanity.

"Huh, well, I really wouldn't consider going to Jamie's house to break up with her a date, but whatever gets you through the night, man." With a heavy sigh that ended in another hacking cough, Bear shook his head again. "You know your dad came to talk to me – he's worried about you."

Drake lifted a brow. "My dad's worried about me?"

"Yeah, he said he's been a firefighter for a real long time, but he's never seen someone as driven to saves lives as you are, an' although he couldn't be any prouder of anyone, he thinks you're missing out on other things in life. So he kinda wanted me to talk you into taking some time off, maybe you an' me go on a road trip to Daytona."

"Is the road trip his idea or yours?" Drake asked as he slid off the bed, "cuz I'm pretty sure after what happened the last time, your bride-to-be wouldn't be too happy about."

"Dude, me and Cindy weren't together at the time, an' they were really hot triplets, so cut me some slack."

"Can't argue with you there," Drake laughed as he turned and headed toward the door, "I'll give it some thought," he added, although he had no intention of going anywhere as long as the fire department was shorthanded. Nor could he leave until he found out why he felt so connected or consumed by a virtual stranger.

With his hand on the door handle, he paused and looked back to his friend. "Love ya, brother man, take care of yourself."

Pounding twice on his chest directly above his heart, Bear pointed a finger at him as Drake followed suit. "You, too, little man."

Drake pushed open the door, and headed out of the room. His feet dragged as he trudged the corridor, hating the idea of going back to the hospital room he shared with Sam. Fate was a real bitch, and at the moment her sights were set solely on making his life a living hell which seemed to include spending unbearably long and awkward moments with the sulky older man.

Instead of going directly inside when he reached the room, he paced outside the doorway as he tried to figure out a way to apologize for his parting comments. Even if he had meant every word he had said, he should have kept his opinion to himself. Sam was obviously hurting, just as he was hurting, but whereas he had family and friends such as Bear to rely on, the older man seemed to be all alone.

With his mind made up to try harder to befriend Sam, he took a deep breath, pushed open the door and went inside. "Sam, I wanted . . . ." his voice trailed off as he glanced around the room, and only saw an orderly straightening the bed Sam had occupied. "Excuse me," he called out to the older woman, and she turned to look at him. "Where did the guy who was in that bed go?"

"He signed himself out," she said with a faint smile.

Drake's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, fearing he'd never see Sam again. "He signed himself out?" Although Sam couldn't have been gone long, he still found himself asking, "How long ago?"

"I dunno," the orderly replied as she resumed making the bed with fresh sheets and pillow cases. "But if it helps, they just told me to clean the room about ten minutes ago."

"Thanks," he uttered, and grabbing his clothes off one of the chairs, he darted into the bathroom to change so he could go and find Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks everyone for sticking with the story and hopefully enjoying it as well!! All the wonderfully awesome comments have meant so much to me, so please keep 'em coming ;) Hugs, Ember!!

_Chapter Five_

_I'd never leave a fallen man behind, an' I'd never leave a family member who needed me . . . so I guess I'm just really grateful you're no brother of mine. _

Drake's parting words played over and over inside Sam's head as he slid out of the hospital bed and gathered his clothes together. He wouldn't remember – he didn't want to remember, and no matter how much it hurt like hell, Sam couldn't blame him.

There wasn't even the slightest spark of recognition in Drake's green eyes when he looked at Sam. Sure, the younger man had said Sam looked familiar to him, but it was more of an I've passed you by a million times in school, and never gave you a second glance kind of familiar instead of how someone would recognize family.

Sam hastily threw on his jeans, shirt and jacket, and then slipped out of the room. Although he knew it was cowardly to sneak out while Drake was gone, he couldn't face him again. It hurt too damn much. He looked and sounded too much like Dean. And if Sam wanted to be truthful, he was Dean, if Dean had been allowed to live a normal life. The things that had made his brother special – his bravery; his need to protect people; his unfailing loyalty to family; his honor and commitment to duty – they were all still there, indelibly imprinted on a soul that now inhabited a new body. A new body that just happened to have the same face as his brother's.

After a quick stop to sign himself out of the hospital, he climbed aboard an empty awaiting elevator, and jabbed at the button repeatedly until the sliding doors closed. With any luck, he would be long gone before Drake returned to the room, although he highly doubted the younger man would try to stop him from leaving even if by chance he caught him in the act of trying to flee.

"What are you doing, Sam?" came Castiel's voice directly to the side of him, and Sam jumped, startled out of his troubled thoughts.

"Jesus, Castiel, one of these days you're gonna give me a freakin' heart attack."

Confusion registering in his narrowed eyes, he studied Sam for a moment. "I don't understand why you're leaving, Sam. I've seen Drake, and listened to him as he spoke – and I believe there is a huge part of Dean still alive within him. You just have to make him remember who he is – or was."

"What exactly should I tell him, Cas?" Sam lifted a brow, staring incredulously at the angel who apparently seemed to think that it would be easy to convince Drake that his soul belonged to someone else. "How about, Lucifer needs a sparing partner an' you're fucked cuz you drew the short straw. So you better damn well get your butt in gear an' start training before you get your ass kicked all over the place when he comes for you?"

"Hmm . . . I was thinking of something more along the lines of you're my brother Drake, and I need you to stand beside me so we can win this war . . . but if you think your words would be more effective than I won't argue with you."

"He's not Dean, Cas, he won't choose me over his family or his life here in Pleasantville."

"I don't think you're giving Dean enough credit, Sam. He fought his whole life to protect you – he went to Hell for you . . . those kinds of things leave imprints on the soul, and while some things may be lost, the kind of love he felt for you doesn't disappear."

"You're right. Everything that made Dean who he was is still there in Drake." Glancing upward at the lights slowly ticking off each of the hospital floors they passed, Sam raked a hand through his hair in frustration, wishing the ride to the main floor would end so he could get as far away from Drake as possible. As the bell sounded for the lobby, and the doors slid open, Sam stepped out and turned back to look at the angel. "They kept everything that made Dean – Dean . . . but they ripped out everything that made him my brother. And I just can't stick around to hear him say yes, when I know damn well, Dean's answer would've always been no."

"So you're leaving?" The angel sounded as disappointed as person with no inflection whatsoever in their tone could possibly sound, and it added to the mounting guilt gnawing away at Sam's insides. "Where are you going to go? he ask when Sam failed to respond, and reaching out, he braced a hand against the elevator door to keep it from sliding shut on him. "And how do you plan on getting there since your car was impounded?"

"I'll hot-wire a car."

"You can try – although I have a feeling you won't have any luck."

From past experience with angels, Sam had no doubt it was more than just a feeling. If Castiel said he wouldn't have any luck stealing a car it meant he had somehow fixed it so any car Sam tried to hot-wire would mysteriously fail to start. "Then I'll walk to the impound lot."

"It's a long walk, and I believe it's going to rain."

_Oh yeah, it's definitely gonna rain . _ "So should I be building an ark or are we talking about something more along the lines of hurricane force winds and a torrential downpour?"

"Why, do you know how to build an ark, Sam? There are specific requirements involved in the undertaking."

"Yeah, Cas, I build them in my spare time to sell on Ebay. How else do you think Dean and I were able to afford all the luxurious five star hotels we've stayed at over the years?"

"Huh," the angel lifted a brow in confusion, "I hadn't realized they were in such high demand – yet." Narrowing inquisitive blue eyes on Sam, he appeared to mull it over for a few moments, and then gave a slight shake of his head. "That was sarcasm, wasn't it?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Unless you've ever seen us hauling a really huge boat behind the Impala, I'd have to say yeah, that was sarcasm." With that said, Sam turned his back on the angel and made to walk away, but Castiel grasped hold of his arm.

"Please stay, Sam. He's your brother, and he doesn't know the first thing about hunting, so he needs you now more than he ever did before."

"That's exactly why I have to leave," Sam shirked free of the angel's hold on his arm, "if I'm not around, he'll say yes to Michael, an' won't have to go through the hell of losing everything before it all ends."

Before Castiel had a chance to stop him again, and drag him down any lower than he already felt, he quickly strode away from him, but didn't fail to miss the angel's parting comments.

"I never thought of you as a coward, Sam, but then again, I never believed you would truly abandon your brother either – I guess I was wrong on both counts."

Sam faltered in his steps, wishing he could argue the point, and trying to formulate the words to make it sound as if running away was the tragically heroic thing to, but Castiel was right. He was a coward. Drake had said as much earlier when he told Sam he was grateful he wasn't his brother. "I'm not a coward," he mumbled more to himself than to anyone who might have been listening, "I'm just too damn tired of losing every one I care about . . . an' I'm fresh out of hope that anything I say or do is gonna make a difference."

Wiping away the tears trailing down his cheeks with the back of his hand, he trudged the remaining distance to the door, pushed it open and headed outside into drenching downpour Castiel had predicted.

SNSNSNSNSN

Not bothering to wait for the elevator which seemed to be permanently stuck on the ground floor, Drake rushed down the winding stairwell. Lungs burning with the effort, he was forced to pause several times as deep coughing spells racked his body. By the third flight of stairs, he slowed to a crawl as he gasped for air, and cursed under his breath for not having waited for the elevator.

His doctor had warned him against strenuous activity, and had said with as much smoke as he had inhaled during the fire it would take a while for his lungs to recover to full capacity. And if by that he had meant Drake would be coughing up thick blackened gunk to spit out onto the steps, well, he would have been right.

Drake pushed himself forward, determined to stop Sam from leaving even as exhaustion threatened to send him crashing down the stairs. _Eleven flights of stairs, what the hell was I thinking? _On a normal day he would have breezed through them without breaking a sweat, but the last day and half had been anything but normal.

As he rounded the seventh set of stairs, he heard familiar voices coming from below, and immediately recognized them as coming from Gary and Rico. He lifted his eyes to look up the stairwell, wondering if he should try to make it up them before his friends found him and dragged him back to his hospital bed. But then a thought occurred to him – he needed Gary . . . or more precisely he needed to borrow his friend's truck if he was going to have any chance at all of catching up with Sam.

Gripping a tight hold of the railing, he straightened as much as his bruised and throbbing ribs would allow, and carefully walked down the steps. Both men stopped short as Drake rounded the turn and came face to face with them. Gary's eyes immediately ticked upward toward the non visible eleventh floor, and then he looked back at Drake.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing down here?"

"Yeah, dude, you look like yer about to hurl," Rico shuddered. For a firefighter, who had seen some really disturbing things in his five years with the department, the only thing the dark-haired man could never stomach was the sight of someone throwing up. "If ya are, man, ya gotta let me know cuz I'm so out of here before that happens."

Ignoring Rico's comments, Drake looked to the taller, leaner man who had been best friends with his brother Jake. "I need the keys to your truck."

With a quick glance at his wristwatch, Gary narrowed hazel eyes on Drake. "It's only eight fifteen in the morning, Dray, bars won't be open for several hours yet."

"Just give me the keys," Drake repeated, and holding out his hand, he wiggled his fingers impatiently.

"You're not thinkin' of going muddin' are ya?" Gary asked as he dug his hand into his front pocket, and yanked out his keys. "Cuz the last time you an' Bear borrowed my truck it took me like three trips through the car wash to get all the mud off."

Rico's dark brown eyes lit up at the mention of taking Gary's truck off-roading. "Aw, dude, if ya are, ya gotta count me in."

"Oh, hell no!" Gary's hand fisted around the keys, he'd been just about to hand to Drake. "The last time he went muddin' with us," he pointed a finger at Rico, "he managed to flip Johnny's truck three times, damn near took off the entire roof."

"I'm not going muddin' . . . well, not today anyways," Drake smirked, "so give me the keys, would ya?"

"Alright," Gary reluctantly gave in, and tossed the keys to Drake, "but you better be back before eleven cuz I'm on call later today."

"Thanks, Gar."

"Before eleven," Gary repeated as Drake slipped by both of his friends to descend the rest of the stairs. "Not like last time . . . no I lost track of time or I just stopped for a burger, an' I don't know where the time went, and definitely not your classic, 'oh, I could've sworn you meant the other eleven o'clock'."

"Gotcha," Drake chuckled, and as a thought struck him, he turned back to look at Gary, "Hey, is your Cousin Jeff working today?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"No reason," Drake replied, and picked up his pace before his fellow firefighter had a chance to press him for an answer.

Drake made it the rest of the way down the stairwell, and outside of the building in under ten minutes. Taking several slow measured breaths, Drake held tightly to his aching ribs as he tilted his head from side to side, searching for Gary's black Silverado. Unable to find the truck amongst the other cars from his vantage point, he stepped from beneath the shelter of the overhanging roof, and out into the pouring rain.

Icy rain pelted at body as he sloshed through growing puddles. Within a matter of seconds his sneakers along with his socks were soaked, and his drenched jeans clung uncomfortably to his legs. From his sopping wet bangs, rivulets of water streamed down the contours of his face and seeped into the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision. With a his free hand, he slicked back his hair from his face, and rubbed the water from his eyes.

Skirting the first row of cars, he spotted Gary's truck parked in one of the furthest spots from the building, and since neither of his friends were wet, he decided the rain had purposely decided to fall just to screw with him because his day wasn't starting out crappy enough already. If he were smart, which apparently he wasn't, he would have headed back inside the hospital, jumped back into bed, and went to sleep. But no, he was just stupid enough to chase after a virtual stranger, who by leaving without so much as a goodbye made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with him.

When he reached the truck, he fumbled with the keys, found the right one, unlocked the door and opening it, slid behind the wheel. Shivers racked his body, and the jarring pain they brought with them had him cursing his newfound friend Sam all the more. With teeth chattering and hands trembling from the cold, he stuck the key in the ignition, and as soon as the engine turned over and rumbled to life, he flipped on the heater full blast.

As the truck warmed up a little, he snatched the hand-held radio from its cradle, and pressed the call button. "Hey, Jeff, you out there?" he released his hold on the button, and waited a few seconds before a response came over the radio.

"Drake, you're not suppose to be on this channel, it's for official police business only."

With a chuckle, Drake pressed the button again, "Dude, since when did Gary become a police officer?"

He let go of the button, and sat back to wait again, and before too long Jeff's voice came back over the line. "What do ya need?" he said rather sheepishly instead of answering Drake's question, and then went on to add, "Hey, you guys aren't going muddin', are you . . . cuz if you are, I get off at noon."

"I don't think so. Bear's not gonna be out of the hospital for a few days and Jasper . . . ." Drake's voice trailed off as he thought of Jasper laying in the intensive care ward of the hospital. With concerted effort he pushed the image of his friend hooked up to tubes and machines to the furthest niches of his mind, but gnawing guilt still wormed its way through his brain. "Look, have a seen a black Chevy Impala pass by at all?" he uttered, instead of finishing his original thought.

"Naw, dude," Jeff responded after a brief pause, "the only car I saw like that, we had towed last night over in Prattsburgh after the fire."

Drake leaned forward in his seat, ducked his head, and glanced upward at the thick dark storm clouds. If they had impounded Sam's car, wherever he was headed, he was going there on foot. As if to punctuate one of the many reasons why the older man shouldn't have been walking anywhere, lightening zigzagged across the sky, followed shortly by a loud boom of thunder that rattled the glass in the truck.

"Where'd you have it towed to?"

"The impound lot in Bath."

As he stared out the rain-blurred windshield, he scratched at the back of his head, trying to decide what he should do, and then with a heavy sigh, he pressed the call button again. "Listen, I need you to somehow manage to lose whatever ticket you wrote up for that vehicle, and have the car released for me."

"Why?" Jeff's voice came back over the radio a few seconds later.

"Because you owe me," Drake said, hating the idea of calling in favor that he had never intended to collect on, "an' besides the guy who owns the car saved not only my life but Bear's and Jasper's as well . . . so since he was in the hospital last night, I think he deserves to have you cut him some slack as far as his vehicle goes."

"Alright," Jeff sighed heavily into the radio, "I'll put in a call to Derrick, an' have him lose the paperwork, but you make sure to have that car out of the lot before Ron gets there at twelve-thirty."

"Gotcha."

"An' by twelve-thirty, I mean just after noon, an' not the other twelve thirty. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha." Drake laughed. "Hey, I gotta run, but you'll be at Jed's next weekend, right?"

"Yeah, I'm coming with Beth, but we might be running late, so what time do you guys go on?"

"Around nine."

"Alright, see ya then."

Returning the receiver to the cradle, Drake pulled out of the parking spot, threw the truck into drive, and sped out of the lot, heading toward Naples. With any luck at all, Sam would have had some sense of direction, and would travel in the same route as Drake had chosen. The windshield wipers slapped back and forth, pushing sheets of water off the window, but as soon as they were clear more water pelted against the glass making visibility of the road ahead nearly nonexistent.

Several vehicles in front of him suddenly slowed to a crawl, and with a curse, Drake pressed the brakes with a little more force than he'd intended, sending the truck swerving toward the ditch. "Sonuva – " Cranking the wheel to the left, he managed to veer back into the right lane, and it was then that he noticed Sam trudging along the edge of the street with his head hung low. He pulled off to the side of the pavement, and slowed to a stop. Leaning over in his seat, he grabbed the handle, and flung open the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sammy?"

Sam paused in his steps, and dragged a shaky hand down his face, momentarily wiping away the water from his skin and red-rimmed eyes. And from the looks of him, Drake had no doubt in his mind that Sam had been crying, but thought better than to mention it. "I'm walking back to find my car so I can leave."

"You're not walking anywhere, so get in the truck," he said as he motioned toward the passenger's seat.

"No." Sam shook his head, shaking free droplets of water from his hair to drizzle down his face. "Go back to your great life with all your friends and family, Drake, and be real thankful you have them cuz that could change quicker than you can possibly imagine."

"Get in the goddamn truck, Sam," he snapped irritably, nearing the end of his patience with the older man, but Sam stood steadfast in his apparent resolve to push Drake over the deep end. "If you don't get in this freakin' vehicle right now, I swear to God, I'll get out an' kick your ass."

"If you really think you can, maybe you should give it your best shot," Sam challenged, not looking the slightest bit concerned over the threat. "Or maybe you should just do as I said – go back where you belong and save yourself the pain."

"Alright," Drake gave a curt nod, "if that's the way you want this to go . . . good luck finding your car. But I guess I should probably mention that I have a helluva lot of friends who just so happen to be police officers in the area, an' I'm pretty damn sure I can make it really hard for you to find out exactly where they have your Impala stored."

Sam's hazel eyes sparked with a deadly glint, and clenching his fists, he took a step toward the truck. "Where's my damn car?"

"It's not your car, it's your brother's," he taunted with a slight lift of his brow, and preparing to drag the stubborn man into the truck if necessary, he slowly inched himself toward the passenger's side. "An' I seriously doubt he'd be happy that you just left it somewhere to be impounded by the police cuz I know damn well I'd be pissed as all hell at you."

"I – want – my – car – Drake," Sam growled, drawing out the words and punctuating them with another tentative step toward the truck.

"Well, I wanted to be back at the damn hospital spending time with my dying friend, but I'm stuck out here in the rain arguing with a stubborn ass sonuvabitch instead – so I guess neither of us are gonna get what we want," Drake bit back with equal fervor, then abruptly snaking out an arm, he fisted hold of Sam's jacket, and yanked him forward. "I'm done screwing with you, Sam, so get in the damn truck an' I'll drive you to your car – then you can leave an' I can get back to the life I had before you arrived and fucked up everything."

The fight left Sam the moment the heated, thoughtless remarks slipped passed Drake's lips, and he instantly regretted saying them as he saw the older man's shoulders slump dejectedly. For several very long moments, Sam glared at him, then without a word he slid onto the benched seat, and slammed the door shut. Stubbornly, he pressed himself up against the door frame, and twisted his head to stare out the side window.

Tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, Drake watched him in growing anger and frustration. "Seatbelt," he ordered when the waterlogged man made no attempt to snap the belt around himself.

Sam cocked his head back to glance at Drake. "What?"

"I said put on your damn seatbelt," he repeated, and when Sam made no move to put it on, he reached around him, grabbed hold of the belt, dragged it across the bigger man, and snapped it in place. "I've worked enough accidents where some guy thought he didn't need one – an' ya know what, I really don't feel like scrapping your bloody mangled corpse off the pavement if we get in an accident cuz you felt the need to be stubborn dumbass." He then swiveled around in his seat, grabbed a blanket out of the backseat of the extended cab, and handed it to Sam. "Here, put this around yourself before you freeze to death."

"Thanks," came Sam's grudging reply as he wrapped the blanket around his broad shoulders, and without another word he went back to staring out the window.

"I don't need your thanks, Sammy," Drake muttered, and with a glance over his shoulder, he pulled out on to the road. "A buddy of mine said they towed your car to a impound lot in Bath," he said as he glanced at clock on the dashboard, "which is about a thirty-five minute drive from here, so I'm gonna have to drop you off and head back cuz Gary's on call today an' needs his truck."

"Whatever," Sam mumbled, resting his head against the window, and closing his eyes as if he planned on sleeping the whole way to Bath.

Drake opened his mouth to explain how he had called in a favor to save Sam from having to pay a fine, but then snapped it shut, and cranked up the music instead. As he drove and listened to the music, the tension eased from him, and before long he was singing along with the song. Lost to the haunting lyrics that for some reason made him think of Sam, and somewhat mesmerized by the back and forth swish of the wiper blades as it drove away the slowing rain, it took him nearly halfway through the song to realize the older man was gawking wide-eyed at him.

"What?" he uttered, feeling the dull ache mounting once again between his shoulder blades and neck.

"You're singing – I mean, you're really singing."

Drake's grip tightened around the steering wheel as he plastered a smile on his face. "So you want me to stop, Sam?" he asked, although if it bothered him, Drake had every intention of singing louder.

"No," he shook his head, "what I meant is that you're really good."

A surge of unexpected pride raced through Drake, and raking a hand through his hair to hide the blush infusing his cheeks, he returned his sights to the road. "My mom'll be so proud – seven years of voice lessons and I'm finally good enough to sing along to a Slipknot CD."

"So you don't listen to Metallica, AC/DC or Led Zeppelin?" Sam asked, and Drake could hear the disappointment in his tone even before he looked back and saw a frown curl downward on the man's lips.

"Yeah, of course I do – who doesn't. But there's just something about this song . . . I dunno," he shrugged as he pressed the replay button to listen to the song again, "it's just the line about the death of hope being the thing that forces a person to let go, it really gets me right in the gut, ya know?"

Instead of responding, Sam fell silent once more, and shifted in his seat to resume looking out the window. Watching him out of the corner of his eye, Drake grappled with his better judgment, knowing the question he wanted to ask Sam would be met with either more silence or an outright no, but couldn't bring himself to hold back from asking anyway.

"I was wondering," he paused to turned down the music, "there's this place called Jeds – it's this bar over in Wayland," he hesitated again, using the time to clear the tight knot from his throat, "anyway, my band is playing over there next Saturday night, and I was wondering if you'd wanna come?" The second he'd finished speaking and reflected on what he had said, he cursed under his breath. "Ya know, when I was running that through my head it so didn't sound like I was trying to ask you out . . . I'm not."

"I never thought you were," Sam said with a lopsided grin that gave way to a light-hearted chuckle.

"So you'll think about it then?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short when Gary's fire alarm went off, and dispatch came on over the radio. "Engine 54 – Rescue 54 . . . we have reports of a structure fire with multiple victims trapped inside on 6221 West Hollow Road."

"That's my house . . . . " Drake's hand slipped from the wheel as his heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach, and if it hadn't been for Sam grabbing a hold of it, they would have careened off the road and crashed into the trees.

Sam slid over in the seat, pressed down on the brakes and pulled the truck to the side of the road. Shifting the gear into park, he flung open the passenger's door, leapt out, shutting it behind him, and darted around to get in on the driver's side. "Listen, I need you to tell me where to go," Sam ordered, "Drake, you've gotta tell me where you live."

"Engine 54 – Rescue 54," dispatch came over the radio again, "please be advised of incoming reports of a possible explosion on site."

Squeezing his eyelids shut against the sting of tears filling them, Drake breathed, "The fuel tank's in the basement."

"I'm not gonna let your family die, Drake, you just gotta stick with me, an' tell me which way to go," Sam's voice turned pleading, but still held an air of control which Drake latched onto in desperation.

"Just go straight an' I'll tell ya when to turn," he managed to get out before dispatch came over the radio again.

"Engine 54, please be advised, Engine 62 is en route out of Cohocton, ETA fifteen minutes."

Drake's phone went off the moment the radio went silent, and he hastily fished it out of his pocket, and jabbed the button to take the call. "Dad!?"

"No, it's Gary," came older firefighter's concerned voice over the line, "I just got the call . . . We're on our way. We'll get 'em out, Drake – I promise we'll get 'em out . . . so don't you do anything stupid. Got me?"

"I'm not waiting, Gar," Drake uttered, wiping away the tears blurring his vision with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, you're are, Drake! You don't go in alone. You wait for us – understand!" Silence filled the line as Drake fought back the sob lodged in his throat, and then Gary spoke again, "Drake, answer me!"

Numbly, Drake pulled the phone away from him, and blindly stared at it for several long seconds before he put it back to his ear. "Sorry, Gary . . . I can't." Pressing his eyes closed, he grasped onto the mental image of his mom and dad, and then shook his head. "If it were your family, you'd do the same thing." Without waiting for his friend to respond, he snapped the phone shut.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for reading, hopefully everyone is enjoying the story and the fairly regular updates. Thanks for all the very encouraging reviews!! They mean so much so keep 'em coming. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Six_

Sam flipped on the blue flashing firefighter emergency lights, pulled out on the road, and pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal. Two deadly fires in two days in his world meant only one thing – something supernatural was dogging Drake along with everyone he cared about, and if Sam had to hazard a guess as to whom would want to see him suffer or die, it would have to be Lucifer.

Castiel had warned him of Death's presence at the first fire, and had also mentioned he'd brought along a helluva lot Reapers. If that was true which Sam had no doubt it was, the deaths at the fire in Prattsburgh would only be the beginning, and he dreaded to think of how it all would end for Drake's family and friends.

"You're not going in there alone, Drake, I'm going with you," he vowed, swerving around a car that had slowed to pull over to the shoulder of the road so he could pass.

"I can't let you do that, Sammy," Drake argued as he twisted around in his seat and snatched Gary's turnout gear from the backseat.

"I wasn't asking permission."

"You don't have any gear."

"I'll find some," Sam rolled his eyes at the younger man's attempt to sway him from his decision, "I'm really good at finding things when I set my mind to it."

"I don't want your help, Sam," Drake uttered as he kicked off his sneakers, and slid into his protective gear.

"Why?" Cocking his head to the side, he studied his brother for a moment, and noted how his hands trembled as he worked to put on his boots. "If you even think for a moment that you're not gonna come out of that damn fire if you can't save your family – it's not gonna happen, Drake, cuz I'll drag you out."

"It's not only my mom and dad," he paused from fumbling with his laces, and glanced up at Sam, "my aunt an' uncle an' three cousins came down from Vermont for the week . . . an' my one cousin Kayla – well, she's only five. Five years old . . . ." His face crumpled, tears sliding down his cheeks, and as he hastily brushed them aside, he further added, "She wanted to spend time with me, but I told her I was too busy – I-I should've been there, Sam."

"So you think if you can't save them you deserve to die as well?"

"This isn't any of your business, Sam, so just shut up an' drive."

"They may not be any of my damn business, but you sure the hell are." Sam's foot eased up on the gas pedal, and edged toward the brakes. Drake may not have been Dean, but he had the whole family is everything mentally in spades. But it wasn't just family with Drake. No, it was way more than that – it now included Bear, Jasper, Gary, and a huge freakin' list of other people Sam hadn't even learn of or met yet, and that scared the hell out of him as it was the kind of thing Michael would use to get him to say yes to being his vessel. "An' right now my gut's telling me to knock your ass out cold, an' deal with getting your family out alive on my own – and if you don't believe I can and will do exactly as I said, just try me."

As they approached a mountainous incline in the road, Drake's eyes remained fixated on the speedometer, watching the numbers drop instead of increase. Other drivers blared their horns, swerving to avoid and pass them as their speed rapidly dipped below twenty miles an hour. "In case you've forgotten, Sam, those blue flashing lights on the freakin' roof mean we're supposed to be the ones hauling ass to get to the damn fire where my family's dying – so either get your ass moving or get the hell out of the truck before I throw you out!"

"No, we're not going anywhere," Sam shook his head as he veered toward the shoulder of the road to let more cars pass, "cuz I may not know a helluva lot about firefighting, but I do know one thing for certain – you go in there with some sort of deathwish, you aren't saving anyone, and more than likely a helluva lot of people will get killed because of you. So if you're not gonna think about yourself then think about your friends who've got the same damn never leave a fallen man behind mentality as you, and let me help you save your family."

"You're right – is that what you wanted to hear?" Fists clenched, Drake's eyes ticked back and forth between Sam and the road ahead, wishing he could haul off and slug him for being the voice of reason. "Tell me, Sammy, did your brother leave you cuz you're such an asshole he couldn't stomach the sight of you any longer – or is he like me, an' just got sick of you in general?" As soon as the hurtful words left his mouth, Drake regretted them, and even more so when he saw the older man's lower lip quiver, but there was no way he could take them back, and doubted Sam would forgive him even if he apologized.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, and hastily turned to look away from Drake as tears filled his eyes. "Maybe he left for the same reason why your brother lit out for a whole different continent to escape being around you." Slamming his foot down hard on the gas pedal, he swerved back onto the road, and fishtailed as the truck's back tires spun on the gravel and slick pavement.

"My brother was a hero – "

"So was mine," Sam hissed, casting a glare in Drake's direction, "though he wasn't the kind who got medals stuck to his chest for bravery, but more of the kind who'd literally go to Hell an' back for the people he loved . . . so don't you sit there an' try to make out like your brother was better than mine cuz you don't know the first damn thing about him."

Sharp pain knifed at Drake's heart as Sam spoke of his brother Dean, once again feeling the same undeniable connection to the older man that had drawn him to Sam in the first place. "I didn't mean . . . ." His voice trailed off as he shook his head. If he couldn't understand his seething resentment toward the man who had saved not only his life but his best friend's as well, how was he supposed to explain it to Sam? But the one thing he did know for certain was that he didn't want Sam to leave even if he did frustrate and infuriate him most of the time.

Luckily, he didn't have time to continue with his line of thought as he spied his street ahead, and gestured toward it. "Turn there," he ordered, stomach churning at the sight of thick smoke rising heavenward to shroud the peeks of blue breaking through the dark clouds. "It's down a ways on the left-hand side," he added even though it wasn't necessary as the street on either side of house was lined with fire trucks, police cars, ambulances along with almost every off-duty or on-call firefighter's vehicle from Drake's fire department.

The moment Sam slowed the truck to a halt behind a line of vehicles, Drake flung open the door, and leapt out, hitting the ground at a dead run. Heart lodged firmly in his throat, he rounded the thick trees and leafy foliage hiding his home from view, and stopped cold in his tracks. Eyes wide, he took in everything – blackened smoke billowed from his bedroom window and from his brother's room as well. Like clawing vines, flames ate at the outer walls from the lower and upper windows, fiery tendrils devouring everything in their wake.

The peaked roof had folded in upon itself, crumpled as heated flames shot heavenward. Gray ash rained like snow only to be lost in a hazy fog of smoke blanketing the area and drifting off into the trees. Lowering his head, he watched as life-long friends worked valiantly to fight back the fire. Markus stood in Drake's father's stead, shouting commands that were lost on Drake as was every other sound except for the frantic thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears.

His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the crowd of firefighters for any sign of his parents, aunt, uncle or his cousins, and then looked once more to the hellish remains of his home. Knees buckling, he teetered forward, and had it not been for Sam grabbing hold of him, and wrapping a firm arm around his waist, he would have face planted into the ground.

"I gotcha, Drake," Sam murmured against Drake's ear, drawing him into a tight embrace. Fisting his hands into the older man's flannel shirt, Drake's head dropped onto the Sam's shoulder as tears rolled down his cheeks. "It's gonna be okay, I gotcha, lil' brother."

Glancing up, Sam took in the same hellish scene that would have brought his brother to his knees if he hadn't been there to catch him. No one could survive the fire, unless they'd gotten out before it had spread to rapidly engulf the house. "Let me take you back to the truck," he offered, not wanting Drake to witness anymore than he already had, but the younger man shook his head.

"No, we have to save my family . . . you have ta help me, Sammy," Drake pleaded, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "I can't let 'em die like that . . . not like that – please."

Narrowing his eyes on the house once more, Sam searched for a possible way to enter, but found nothing. "There's no way in, Drake. You go in, you're not coming out, an' I can't let you do that . . . your family wouldn't want you to do that – they wouldn't want you to die for them."

"We could go around to the back," Drake uttered in desperation, "there's a stairwell into the basement."

"You said the fuel tank was in the basement," Sam reminded, feeling the weight of each word as a death sentence for Drake's family as he spoke them. He looked to the burning remains of the home once more, and from one of the upper floor windows, he saw a shadowed figure peering out at the crowd. "You stay here, an' I'll go look around back for a way in," he ordered, and grasping hold of Drake's protective fire coat, he pulled it off of him. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he yanked on the jacket, and then grabbed Drake's helmet. "If there's a way in, I'll find it, an' I'll be back for you," he vowed, and then took off in the direction of the backyard.

He hadn't even made it halfway around the house when out of nowhere, Castiel appeared. The angel looked to Sam briefly and then his gaze searched out several firefighters working to contain the fire from spreading to any of the outlying buildings in Drake's yard. His weary gaze then strayed back to Sam.

"Something's not right, Sam," the angel said as he looked once more to the same firefighters he had glanced at before. "There are six reapers here – three around front and three back here, and seven people trapped in the house."

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion, and even knowing he wouldn't see them he still surveyed the area for the reapers. "So what does that mean?" he asked, shifting his sights to the house, "one of Drake's family members is going to live?"

"No," Castiel said with a shake of his head, "they're all going to live."

Eyes still locked on the burning shell of a home, Sam searched for any means of escape, but every exit was swallowed in smoke and searing flames. "That's not possible."

"I know," the angel's tongue darted out to dampen his lips, "and that's what'll make it a true miracle in the eyes of everyone present, Sam."

Sam opened his mouth to ask how it would even be possible with the reapers waiting to claim their souls, and then as sudden understanding rattled him to his very core, he snapped it shut. Twisting his head from side to side, he searched for the three men Castiel had been studying, but in their turnout gear they all looked almost exactly the same. "Except it won't be a miracle – at least not for the ones who die in their place – right?"

"They figured that is where they went wrong with Dean – they left him with no hope, and in leaps and bounds he was dying inside because of it."

"You can't let this happen, Cas."

"It's too late to stop it."

Before Sam could think to say another word, excited shouting came from the front yard, and with one last hateful parting glance, Sam sprinted around the crumbling dwelling in time to see the first of seven people walk through the burned out front entrance. A warm golden glow encompassed and bathed the weary survivors in an unearthly light as one by one they emerged from the fiery abyss and headed away from the house.

Sam surveyed the crowd of firefighters, noting how many stood with their mouths dropped wide open, staring in awed confusion at the miracle they'd witnessed. Then his eyes narrowed on Drake, rushing forward to pull his mom and dad into a bone-crushing embrace. With tears glistening in his eyes, Sam's shoulders slumped as Drake released his parents and scooped a small blond-haired girl up into his arms while a little boy wrapped his arms around the young firefighter's waist. The smile radiating from Drake's face in those seconds was unlike anything Sam had ever seen before – it was the glowing smile of a man who had just witnessed a miracle – mere seconds prior he had thought he'd lost everything only to have his wavering faith restored tenfold . . . and there was no way in hell Sam could compete with that.

"What are you going to do, Sam?" came Castiel's voice at Sam's side, causing him to flinch.

As several firefighters rushed forward to capture members of the family in embraces, Sam lowered his head and turned his back on them and Castiel. "There's seven people who need saving, so I'm gonna go back to hunting, an' leave my brother to his miracle." With a defeated weary sigh, he shrugged out of the jacket he had taken from Drake, and let it fall to the ground; then removing the helmet he wore, he tossed it aside and lumbered away.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for sticking with the story and for all the really awesome comments. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Seven_

Trembling and with tears unabashedly rolling down his cheeks, Drake pulled back to look at his family – unmarred in any way by the fire that had ripped through and destroyed their home, and breathed a thanks to whomever had watched over them and delivered them safely back to him.

His youngest cousin, Kayla, wrapped her chubby little arms around his neck, pulled him in close, and whispered in his ear, "Ya shoulda sawed 'em, Cousin Dray, they was glowin' an' with wings."

"I don't know how else to describe it," he heard his mother's shaky voice as she tried to explain what they had lived through to Markus and Coy, "one minute we were trapped, smoke an' fire all around, an' the next they were just there." She drew in another staggered breath, and grasp hold of Drake's father's arm. "I swear, the fire all around us, but no matter where we walked, it couldn't break through their light."

"They were angels," his Aunt Anna chimed in with a breathy sigh, "they had to be – it's the only thing that makes sense."

With a lift of his brow, Drake glanced at his father, and his breath left him in a rush. His father had never in his life appeared rattled by anything, but now all he could do was stare in open mouthed awe at the smoldering remains of their home. "Dad?" Setting his cousin down on the ground, he moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. "Dad, tell me what happen in there?"

"I don't know, Drake," he uttered, dragging a hand though his beard as he shook his head, "but if I'd ventured a guess, I'd say your brother was really looking out for us."

With the mention of his brother, Drake swallowed hard, craned his neck to look around for Sam, and spied him talking to a dark-haired man in a rumpled trench coat. Whatever the two older men had to say to each other didn't last for more than a few moments, and then Sam walked away with his head hung low.

Drake's heart beat in perfect cadence with Sam's hesitant retreat. Throat constricting painfully, his smile faded as the broken man trudged past the line of trees and out of sight. It tore at Drake's soul to see how much obvious pain he'd endured and tried to hide. But no matter how hard Sam might have tried, he couldn't feign enough weak smiles and halfhearted laughs to wash away the deadened look in his hazel eyes which made Drake all the more determined to find out what had happened between Sam and his brother.

"I – I have to go, dad," he stammered, and seeing confusion register in his father's pale green eyes, he struggled to find a reason for leaving other than to admit he was hopelessly drawn heart and soul to a person he had met only the prior day. Hell, he didn't even want to admit it to himself, unsettling discomfort curdling in his stomach as to what it meant.

"What are you talking about, Drake?" Anger, hurt and disappointment mingled in his father's tone as he motioned to their family, and then made a sweeping gesture toward the charred, smoldering remains of their home. "You're not going anywhere – we need you here."

Biting at his lower lip as he once again looked toward the road, Drake shook his head. "I'm sorry . . . I can't."

"Please, son." The desperate urgency of a man who'd almost lost not only his own life but that of those he loved as well shimmered in his light eyes, and it tore at Drake's heart. "Look, I know this is h-hard," as his voice caught in his throat, he lowered his head and rubbed away the moisture in his eyes, "it was our home, an' what with Jake . . . ." his voice trailed off as he looked once more to Drake, and perhaps thought better of revisiting such painful memories – memories that had sent Drake over the edge once already. Clearing his throat, he resumed, "I know it won't be the same as the house you grew up in, but we are gonna rebuild."

"I know, Dad." More guilt piled on, weighing heavily on him as he peered around his father to watch his friends and fellow firefighters work to stamp out the last of the fire that had ravaged their home. Maybe it hadn't hit him yet, and later he would crumble like the charred pieces of roofing timber, but right now he was too happy his family was alive to care about things that could be replaced. And truthfully he didn't want to think about the things that were lost forever – didn't want to think of things like Jake's school medals, family photos that included his older brother or the dresser full of flannel shirts Jake had worn which still held a hint of his woodsy outdoors scent. It was as if the fire had erased any physical proof of his existence, and Drake couldn't bear to travel down that dark and painful road of thought at the moment.

"I have to go," he uttered again with tears stinging at his eyes. "There's something I have to do, but I promise I'll be back later to – " he swallowed back the hard lump forming in his throat at the thought of having to pick through the rubble to find some sense of a life that once was but now was lost forever, "to help you go through things."

His father eyed him for several long seconds then gave a curt nod. "Alright, son," he said with a heavy sigh, "What with all of this, I'd forgotten you're dealing with a pretty heavy load right now what with Jasper being in the hospital – an' I'm really sorry cuz I know how close the two of you are - I shouldn't have pushed the matter." Wrapping an arm around Drake's shoulders, he guided him away from the others, and once they were out of earshot, he paused and looked Drake over as if trying to determine if he was going to have another mental breakdown. "Look, I know you're not gonna like this, but I'm putting you on a leave of absence from work until further notice."

"You can't do that," Drake blurted out, feeling as if his father had just kicked him squarely in the gut. In the short span of a day, he'd lost his house, one of his best friends was dying, and now his father wanted to take away his only remaining link to Jake. "I haven't done anything wrong so you can't do this to me – please don't do this to me, Dad."

"This isn't a punishment, Drake," he said in the same placating, it's for your own good manner he'd used when he had checked Drake into the mental hospital. "With everything that's happened, you're gonna need time to sort it through – an' if it gets to be too much, I need you to come to me before it pulls you under cuz me an' your mother don't wanna watch you suffer like that again."

"Why, Dad? So you can stick me in some mental ward again?" Pursing his lips, he shook his head. "I'm not some headcase who needs to locked up somewhere – I save lives . . . it's what I'm good at, an' I'll be damned if I let you take it away from me."

"Son, I'm not trying – "

"Yeah, you are," Drake abruptly cut him off and too angry to stand there and listen to him any longer, he swung around and stormed away.

With hands clenched firmly into fists, Drake stalked through his front yard, and rounded the line of trees, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw Gary's truck was gone. "Sonuvabitch!" Even knowing exactly where the truck had been parked, he still peered down the road in both directions, making certain it was really missing, and then spun around and sprinted toward the barn to grab his motorcycle so he could go after his truck stealing friend.

_How could've I been so stupid? _Bear had always teased him about being too trusting of people, but growing up in a small town where he knew almost everyone, and things like locking the doors at night or when he left the house wasn't really all that necessary, he'd come to take people at face value and never questioned if they had ulterior motives. _Gary's gonna kill me. _

Reaching the barn, he threw open the doors, and determinedly strode to his father's workbench. Above the toolbox a spare set of keys to his motorcycle hung on a peg. As he snatched them from the holder, fisting them in his hand, he wondered briefly if Sam would even bother going to the impound lot to get his Impala back – if it was really his to begin with – or would he just keep going and never look back. But no matter what he thought of Sam at the moment, he couldn't deny the fury he saw in the older man's hazel eyes when he threatened to keep the location of his brother's car a secret. Sam took Gary's truck with the sole intention of finding his car, but if Drake was really lucky he'd make it to the impound lot first.

Drake swung around to get his motorcycle and jumped, startled by the sight of the dark-haired man in the tan trench coat standing in the doorway. "Jesus, you scared the hell out of me," he snapped, taking several slow breaths to try and calm his rapidly beating heart. Unnerved by the curious way in which the blue-eyed man quietly studied his every movement, he went on to add, "I saw you talking to Sam . . . are you a friend of his?"

"A friend?" The man's brows pulled together as if puzzled by the question, and then gave a nod. "I was sent to help Dean . . . things got complicated."

"O-kay," Drake scratched at the back of his head as he tried to figure out what the hell the man was talking about, "that pretty much made no sense at all, but I'm gonna go with it here, and ask what did you need to help him with?"

"That no longer matters," he responded flatly, and tucking his hands into his pockets, he moved to close the gap between them.

"Why doesn't it matter anymore?" Drake swallowed hard as the odd man leaned in close, invading what was definitely his personal space, and looked him over again. "And where's Sam's brother?"

"Do you believe in God, Drake?" he asked instead of answering Drake's questions, and from his pocket, he pulled out a leather necklace with a strange shaped head dangling from it. "If the answer is yes, then I want you to have this – it will protect you."

Narrowing his eyes on the tarnished charm, Drake was struck with a weird feeling of familiarity, but shook it off, knowing he'd never seen it before. "I asked you where Dean is . . . so are you going to tell me or do I have to find out for myself?"

"Dean's gone. Now answer my question – do you believe in God?"

"That's not a good enough answer," he uttered with a shake of his head, "cuz I have this gut feeling you know exactly where he is, an' if you're a friend of Sam's then you'd have to know he needs his brother."

"I already told you, Dean's gone, and he's not ever coming back."

Unbridled anger surged like a firestorm through Drake as he listened to the older man speak of Sam's brother as if he were dead when Sam had told him otherwise. "Listen you sonuvabitch, if you don't wanna help me that's fine," lips pursed, he gave another shake of his head, "I'll find him on my own an' bring him back for Sam."

The sullen man actually cracked a smile as he held out the necklace to Drake, and pressed it into his hand. "Then you'll be needing this."

"So this is all the help you're gonna give me?" he asked, holding up the necklace to get a better look at it. "Some dumb necklace with an ugly-assed charm on it?"

"I doubt Dean thought of it like that," the man said as he turned his back on Drake and walked toward the doorway, and called back over his shoulder, "and I'm also certain Sam would like to see it again, so maybe you should be a little more thankful."

Grasping tightening around the worn leather, Drake looked at the tiny charm once again as understanding dawned on him. "This was Dean's?"

"I asked if you believed in God," the dark-haired man said, turning to study Drake once more as he waited for an answer.

As Drake slipped the necklace over his head to let it rest against the silver Celtic cross his brother had given him for his fourteenth birthday, he mulled over the question and then gave a nod. "Yeah, I do."

"Why?" he asked, and rounding his shoulders in a meek gesture, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "You can't see Him, so how can you possibly believe He's real?"

"You seriously want an answer to that?" Drake quirked a brow, puzzled by the man's line of questioning, and when he saw him give a nod, he shrugged. "I have seen Him that's how I know He's real."

The man's dark brows pulled together as he took several steps toward Drake. "You've seen Him?"

"Yeah," Drake nodded, "I've seen Him in the eyes of every person I've ever pulled from a fire or a car wreck . . . when their fear deadened eyes turn to a look of hope – that's God."

A genuine smile graced the tired looking man's face, lighting up his features, and reflecting in his unusually clear blue eyes. "Hmmm . . ." his smile widened as if savoring the thought, "that was perfect – I can work with that."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Most umm . . ." he hesitated, brows knitting together as if searching for the right word, "_people_ I know seem to believe hope is dead, but I've found it alive an' well in small town USA, and where there is hope there is always a chance – I thank you for that, Drake."

With the odd man's words running through his head, Drake grasped hold of Dean's necklace, and glanced at it. "Look, I don't mean to sound stupid not understanding your buckets of crazy talk, but," he paused to glance up, and was met with an empty space where the older man had been standing. His gaze swept the drafty barn searching for the stranger, certain he would have seen him leave even if his head was lowered, but he was alone.

"Maybe dad's right . . . maybe I am losing it again." With a shake of his head and a heavy sigh, he straddled his motorcycle and started the engine. Lifting a hand he lightly trailed his fingertips across the warm metal of Dean's charm then they slipped beneath it to hold on tightly to his cross. "What do you think, Jake," he lifted his sights heavenward, "is it all kinds of crazy that I feel some weird connection to this guy Dean?"

"Drake?" came Gary's voice at the barn entrance, and Drake lowered his sights to look at him. Brow furrowed, his lips were drawn into a grim line. "Who were you talking to?" he asked as he pulled off his helmet then glanced around the room.

"No one," color flushing his cheeks, he lowered his head, "you didn't happen to see a guy in a tan trench coat pass by as you were coming in here, did you?"

"Naw, I didn't see anyone," he said with a shake of his head, and then moved further into the barn. "I'm really sorry we couldn't save your house, Dray." A wistful smile played across his face as he nudged his head toward the loft. "Damn, it seems like forever ago since me an' yer brother camped out in here . . . we couldn't have been more than seven or eight the first time – hell, I don't think you were even born yet." A broken laugh slipped past his lips as he pointed past Drake's line of vision, and went on to say, "Dude, even back then your brother was all kinds of nuts." Pulling back his hand, he rubbed at his eyes as he drew in a shaky breath. "He had this idea of building us our own firefighter's challenge so's we'd be ready when we were old enough, an' so we made this zip-line from that upper window to that old maple back there," he waved his helmet in the direction of the horse pasture behind the barn, "course it didn't work as well as we'd hoped, an' he ended up hangin' on to me for dear life while we both screamed or heads off for your dad to come an' get us down – an' the lesson in that is if ya ever think to build yourself a zip-line – which was a totally cool idea – make sure one of the lines securely in the ground an' not up in a tree."

"My dad told me about that." Drake smiled through the fresh tears forming in his eyes. "He always said you looked like a scrawny fish dangling from a hook, an' I could always see how proud of Jake he was when he said my brother refused to let go of you even though he'd dislocated his shoulder – right then an' there he knew Jake would make the best damn firefighter he'd probably ever see . . . an' he was right."

"That's not true, Drake," he uttered with a shake of his head. "Ya know I loved Jake like he was my own brother – hell, I would've died for him if I could – but his heart wasn't into firefighting anymore. He always wanted more – craved more. I could see it in his eyes – an' that's why he signed up to be a Marine. Although he had both bravery and honor in spades, he was an adrenaline junkie who was in constant need of a fix." Closing the gap between them, he reached into his helmet, pulled out a picture, and handed it to Drake. "So what I'm sayin' is that I don't want you to follow his lead cuz I kinda think of you as the little brother I never had, an' I don't think I could bear losing you, too."

As Drake studied the picture of his brother in full turnout gear with his arms wrapped around Drake's and Gary's shoulders, tears slid down his cheeks. "I'd forgotten about this picture," he breathed, grazing his fingertips along his brother's wrinkled image, "my first firefighter's challenge . . . that was probably the best day of my life."

"Second place, not too bad for a probie." With a playful wink, Gary grinned through the tears shimmering in his eyes. "Course you just had to go an' show us all up the next year. Man, I'll never forget the look on your brother's face when you set a record on the course – he was never prouder of anything in all his life." Biting at his lower lip, he looked away briefly to wipe away the moisture from his soot covered cheeks with the back of his hand then looked once more to Drake. "God, I miss him so much, an' I hate that he had to die . . . it just never made sense to me – one week . . . one freakin' week an' he would've been coming home for good, an' he goes an' volunteers for a damn bomb scouting mission – stupid dumbass promised to keep his head low, n-not to get it blown off . . . an' I hate him for that . . . I really do."

Drake slid from his seat on the motorcycle, and wrapped an arm around Gary's shoulders as the older man gave into the pain he'd trapped inside himself for so long, and wept for his fallen friend. "He made a lot of promises, he never kept," Drake murmured as Gary fisted a hand into his flannel shirt, and lowered his head to rest in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Gary pulled back after a few minutes, and swiped a hand across his tears streaked face, "I guess, just seein' your house . . . it jus' brought all these memories rushing back, an' it was like it knocked the wind from me."

"Yeah, I know," Drake dragged a hand through his shaggy hair, and rolled his eyes upward to look at the loft once more, recalling how he, Bear, Jake and Gary used to jump down from its heights into a huge pile of hay his father had stored for their horses. "Hey, you wanna get out of here?" he nudged his head toward his spare motorcycle helmet. "Maybe go for a ride?"

"Wish I could, brother man, but I'm on call," he hooked a thumb back over his shoulder, "I just saw ya headin' this way, so I came to find out where you parked my truck since I couldn't find it anywhere."

Pressing his eyes closed at the reminder of Gary's missing truck, and the man who stole it from him, he cursed under his breath. "Umm . . . yeah, about your truck – I kinda left the keys in the ignition . . . an' a friend of mine kinda stole it Actually stole may be a little harsh – I think he more along the lines of borrowed it without permission," as Gary's hazel eyes widened incredulously, he quickly added, "but I know where he's going . . . or at least I think I do, so if you hop on, I'll get it back for you."

"Dude, please tell me this isn't gonna be like the time you, Rico, an' Jason borrowed my first truck an' swamped it, cuz if it is, I don't even wanna know about it. Just have it dragged out an' shipped to the junkyard an' save me the trouble." With a roll of his eyes, and a heavy sigh, Gary set his helmet on the workbench and grabbed the spare motorcycle helmet from Drake. "Ya know this is my own fault an' ya think I would've learned by now," Gary added as Drake once again straddled the seat and he slid on behind him, "cuz I know damn well you or one of the others will eventually destroy any vehicle I get, an' yet I keep letting you guys borrow them."

"I'm really sorry about this, Gar, I didn't think – "

"Yeah, yeah," Gary cut him off, playfully nudging him on the shoulder, "don't sweat it, man, just get your ass moving cuz I have to be at the firehall in like forty-five minutes – an' for the love of God, I'm ridin' bull an' clownin' Friday, so no wheelies . . . the road's slick an' I don't feel like eating asphalt cuz you wanted to play at being Evil Knievel."

"Gotcha." Drake smirked as he revved the engine, let up on the hand brake, and peeled out of the barn.

Averting his gaze from the sodden wreckage that had been his home for the last twenty-one years, Drake drove through the grass, and turned out onto the pavement. Once he'd reached the end of his road, he rolled through the stop sign, and headed out onto the main street. As he reached 50 mph, he rolled the throttle wide open, carving up the asphalt as he sped through the straightaway's of the mountainous roads. Easing up on the throttle, Drake groaned as he and Gary leaned to the right at a shape bend in the road, and then picked up speed again. With his family's lives being in danger along with watching his home go up in smoke and ashes, he'd been running on pure adrenaline, but now out on the open road his fear induced high gave way to jarring pain at every bump and curve in the pavement. But Sam had at least a good twenty minute head start on them, so he couldn't afford to slow down, and so he sped up once again when the road straightened out.

Luckily for him, Sam wasn't familiar with the area, and stuck to the main route whereas Drake veered off and took a dirt road shortcut. Mud kicked up from the tires, splattering both men as Drake maneuvered through the bumping terrain, and with every jarring motion, he cursed himself for thinking he'd been smart in taking the shortcut to Bath. But as they came to the downward slope in the road, and he saw Gary's truck pass by on the main route, a triumphant grin slid across his features.

Slowing at the Y in the road, he glanced to the left to see if any cars were coming, and seeing none, he pulled out onto the road, sped up and when he hit 50 mph, rolled the throttle.

Drake veered out as he approached the black Silverado, and ran alongside the truck. Hitting the horn to get Sam's attention, he then flipped up the visor on his helmet, looked the older man in the eyes, and pointed toward the shoulder of the road.

For several very long moments, it appeared as if Sam was going to ignore his demand to pull over, but then he slowed and pulled off to the side of the road. Drake veered off and came to a halt in front of the truck. Drake and Gary slid off the motorcycle. They eyed each other briefly, and with a slight shake of his head, the hazel-eyed man gave him a look that clearly said, _let it go,_ but Drake was too keyed up to let the matter slide. Yanking off his helmet, he strode to the truck and flung open the driver's side door.

"You stole my friend's truck, Sam. He leveled his sights on the bigger man, daring him to deny it was the truth, but Sam remained stonily silent. "Get out. Now!"

"I'm pretty sure he was only borrowing it, so let it go, Drake," Gary called out as he causally leaned back against the motorcycle and crossed his long legs, "Hell, all I care about is that it still has four good tires an' a working engine."

Not taking his eyes off Sam, he snapped, "Keep out of this, Gar. He just took off. He didn't even say . . . ." his voice trailed off, stomach churning at the thought of how it bothered him a helluva lot more that Sam had left without so much as a goodbye rather than how he had stolen Gary's truck. "I told you I'd take you to get your Impala – I'd even fixed it so you wouldn't have to pay a fine . . . an' you just go an' take off in one of my best friend's vehicle. An' I don't care how anyone else cares to think of it – to me it makes you suck as a person, Sam."

If Drake had hauled off and repeatedly slugged Sam in the face, he doubted it would have been met with the intensity of pain he saw shimmering in the older man's hazel orbs.

"I just wanted my brother's car back – it's the only thing I've got that belonged to him . . . an' it's the only thing I've got that proves he ever existed." Drawing in a shaky breath, Sam wiped away the lone tear trailing down his cheek, and then slid out of the driver's seat, pushing Drake out of the way. As he walked away, he called back over his shoulder, "An' seein' as how I didn't want to interrupt your happy little miracle – a miracle that you're not even smart enough to question – I borrowed your friend's truck, an' since he doesn't seem to have a problem with it, you can just go screw yourself, Drake."


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the delay. Holidays seem to just make time fly by way too quickly! Thanks to those who have stuck with the story, and huge hugs to those who wrote such awesome comments. Please keep 'em coming as they are like gold to me. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Eight_

Jaw clenched, Drake glared at Sam as he acknowledged Gary with a curt nod, and then kept on walking toward town. As he watched Sam leave, he grazed his fingertips along the edges of Dean's charm then grasping hold of it, he tucked it beneath his shirt. Even if it had once belonged to Sam's brother, it was his now, and he had no intention of giving it to the older man. The warmth of the metal and leather against his skin felt right in the same way the silver cross his brother Jake had given him made him feel more complete with the simple act of wearing it, and he wasn't about to let anyone take that feeling from him.

"Aren't you going to go after him?" Gary asked, ticking his gaze back and forth between Sam and Drake.

"Why the hell would I want to go after him?" Drake said loud enough for Sam to hear him, and smirked when he faltered in his steps.

"I dunno," Gary shrugged, raising his voice to match Drake's, "I was just thinking how I've watched you make this same kind of mistake once before, an' I didn't wanna see you make it again, but hey what the hell do I know."

"It's not the same thing, Gary, an' you damn well know it."

"Whatever, dude." With a roll of his eyes and a heavy sigh, he uncrossed his legs, pushed to his feet and headed for his truck, but paused when he stood a few feet away from Drake. "Look, brother man, I've known you your whole life, so you're not fooling me any," he glanced over his shoulder at Sam then looked back to Drake, "an' I saw how protective he was of you when you keeled over at the fire the other day – he called you his brother, Drake, I heard him clearly – I'm not trying to say he's Jake, but there is something between the two of you."

Drake's eyes sought out Sam again, watched his shoulders droop as he once again picked up his pace, and heaved a heavy sigh. "What about my motorcycle?" he asked, searching for any reason at all not to have to confront the brooding man again.

"You know I always have the ramp in the back of the truck," with a sly grin, he nudged his head toward the rear of the truck, "I'll drop it off at my place on the way to the firehall, and you can pick it up later."

"What about my parents – what with the fire they're gonna need my help – "

"Dude, stop making excuses, an' just go after your friend before he makes it all the way to town."

"You know I really hate you, right?"

"Luv ya, too, lil' man." Chuckling lightly, Gary made his way around his truck, opened the tailgate, and pulled out the sturdy metal ramp. "Dude, don't forget about Friday," he called out, slowing Drake in his steps before he had gotten very far. "I'll be picking you up at five sharp . . . so for the love of God, be ready this time."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be ready." Drake inwardly groaned at the prospect of bull riding with bruised ribs as the jarring trip on his motorcycle had left him wincing with every step he took, and silently prayed a week of babying his injuries would prepare him for being tossed on his back at least once in the course of the night. "We're clowning, right?" he asked, pivoting around to look at Gary as he kept up a backward pace toward Sam. "Cuz I'm gonna need the money," he added, silently cursing his father for putting him on involuntary leave from the fire department.

"Yeah, I just gotta confirm it with Jay, but I'm pretty sure he wants us to work the next three Fridays." Nudging his head toward Sam, he smirked as he went on to add, "So now that you've stalled as much as you possibly could, you'd better get your ass moving or I guarantee you'll be walking home from Bath cuz I don't think your ride will wait for you."

"Oh yeah, he'd definitely leave me in a heartbeat," Drake mumbled under his breath as he swung back around and set off sprinting after Sam. "Wait up, Sam," he shouted, picking up his pace when the older man refused to slow down or even acknowledge that he'd heard him which Drake was certain he had as he'd pick up his speed in response. "Come on, Sammy, wait for me."

Clutching at his throbbing ribs, he paused, and resting hands on knees he drew in several slow measured breaths. "S-Sam . . . c-can't breathe," he forced a stammer, knowing it was a dirty trick, but if Gary was right about Sam being protective of him, it might slow him up a bit so Drake could catch up with him. And honestly it wasn't all that far from the truth as each breath he inhaled took increasing effort as pain radiated from his sides and burned at his lungs. "Pl-please, S-Sammy."

Within a heartbeat, Sam spun around and sped to Drake's side. "Take slow breaths, Drake," he uttered, carefully rubbing his hand in a circular motion across Drake's back. At the sound of concern in Sam's voice and the oddly familiar feel of his large hand soothing away the pain, Drake drew in a sudden sharp breath, and instantly regretted it as it set off a coughing spasm. "It's okay, I gotcha." Grasping a light hold of Drake's arm, Sam guided him away from the shoulder of the road, and returned to gently rubbing his back as Drake coughed up more blackened phlegm from his lungs to spit out in the grass.

"M'okay, Sammy," Drake rasped, throat raw and scratchy from coughing so hard. And the moment he spoke the words, Sam abruptly released his hold on him and took a backward step, leaving Drake to feel utterly cold and alone. "What's wrong?"

"You just sounded . . . ." his voice trailed off as he pressed his eyes closed, and when he reopened them, Drake swallowed hard and lowered his head at the sight of the intense hatred he saw clearly written within their hazel depths. "My name's Sam, not Sammy, so don't call me that."

"Are you kidding me?" Drake lifted a brow in confusion as he had been calling Sam 'Sammy' since the moment he'd met him, and in his gut it felt right.

"No, only my brother gets to call me Sammy – an' even if I ever did allow someone else to call me that, it would never be you."

"And why's that, Sammy?" Drake taunted, pushing for an answer he didn't really want to hear, but if he couldn't get himself to walk away from the man who was dragging him under, maybe his response would break the strong connection he felt toward him.

"Because I can't stomach the sight of you," he spat venomously, voice trembling with such raw emotion that was mirrored in the glint of his eyes, Drake had no doubt he spoke the truth.

"Then how about if I just call you jerk? Does jerk work for you – or maybe asshole . . . I'm good with calling you either of those two names, so just say the word on which you'd prefer, an' we're golden." Not about to let him know how badly his words had ripped to the very core of his heart, Drake forced a tight-lipped smile as he pushed past Sam and set out toward town again. Sensing Sam's eyes boring into the back of him as he walked, he called out, "Are you coming or what?"

"Don't you get it?" Sam shouted, "I just said I hated you."

"I understood you perfectly," Drake somehow managed to say with only the slightest tremor in his voice. "Am I supposed to be upset by that? I'm not. I couldn't care less what you think of me as you mean absolutely less than nothing to me."

"Then why are you even here?" Picking up his pace, Sam caught up with Drake, and then slowed to match his stride.

"Because I said I'd take you to get your car, an' I don't go back on my word." Averting his eyes, Drake rubbed away the sting of tears gathering in them.

"I didn't ask for your help – I don't want your help."

"Can you please just stop," halting in his tracks, Drake shifted to grab hold of Sam, and yanked him around so they were looking each other square in the eyes, "I get it – you hate me. You don't need to spell it out any more clearly just because you think I'm some sort of dumbass country redneck. You saved my life I want to repay the debt, that's all. Once I get your car back, I'll call one of my friends an' have them pick me up then you'll never have to see me again. Okay?"

For the briefest of moments, Drake could have sworn he saw a glimmer of regret in the older man's eyes, but Sam quickly looked away before he could be certain. "I never said I thought you were stupid," he muttered, toeing the tip of his boot at the gravel. "It's just – " scrubbing a hand across his face, he heaved a heavy sigh, "it's just you remind me of . . . of someone I once knew, an' that's why we can never be friends."

"Then it's a good thing I already have enough friends, isn't it." Without waiting for Sam to respond, Drake started walking again. Sam fell in line behind him, and thankfully remained quiet the rest of the way to town. "The impound lot's over on Exchange Street," lifting a hand, he motioned in the direction they should head, "so if we cut through those parking lots, we can make it there a lot quicker."

Sam gave a nod of acknowledgement, but remained silent and kept his gaze averted. Determined not to let it bother him, Drake plastered a smile on his face as he nodded a greeting to the people they passed on the street. As several people called out to him along the way, and he waved at them, he heard Sam grumble under his breath, and his smile turned to a smirk knowing it bugged the older man that he didn't need him as a friend as he had plenty of other people to choose from.

"It's over there," he said, and although it wasn't necessary as the tall gated fence surrounding the back of the red brick building and the posted sign declaring it was the Steuben County Impound Lot made it obvious, he still pointed toward it anyway.

When they reached the entrance, Drake hesitated with his hand on the door and shifted to look at Sam. "Look, Derrick's a good buddy of mine, so maybe you should just wait outside."

"No," Sam stated simply, and pushing Drake aside, he flung open the door and went inside.

With an aggravated groan, Drake followed, and greeted his friend with what he hoped appeared to be a carefree smile. "Hey, Putt-Putt," he called out as he approached the protective bullet-proof glass partition separating the waiting area from his friend's desk. "Jeff called you about the black Impala, right?"

Glancing up from the skin magazine he was leafing through, Derrick pushed up the brim of his trucker cap, and cast a toothy grin in Drake's direction that faded the moment his eyes landed on Sam. "Shoot, Dray, yer cuttin' it awful close," he bobbed his head toward the clock on the wall, "Ron'll be here in about a half hour, an' you know he's never late."

"Yeah, my ahhh . . . something came up," he uttered, swallowing hard against the tightening in his throat at the thought of his house burning to the ground. "Can we get the car? My friend," he hitched a thumb toward Sam, "he's gotta get heading back to . . . well, he's going home today, an' he's running late. So if we could hurry this up I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure, sure." The stocky man pushed his seat backward, got his feet and grabbed a set of keys from the key holder to unlock the gate. Pressing a button on the wall, a buzzer sounded and he pushed open the door, walked out into the waiting area, motioning for them to follow as he headed outside to unlock the fence. "Hey," he called back over his shoulder, "bow season starts next week, you goin' opening day or what, Dray?"

"Oh, hell yeah." Drake grinned, grateful for any conversation that didn't involve his house, his friends in the hospital or Sam. "When have I ever missed opening day?" However, his smile died away all too quickly as he glanced in Sam's direction and noticed the older man scowling at him.

"What, Sam?" he asked, anger and frustration filling his tone. "No wait – don't tell me, lemme guess . . .you're one of those animal rights people, an' this is just another reason why we can't be friends cuz God only knows what lil' Bambi's gonna do when I shoot his mother on him."

Pursing his lips, Sam shook his head. "No, I'm just surprised you'd know how to use any sort of weapon."

"I live in the country, dude," Drake rolled his eyes at the disbelief clearly written across Sam's features, "which means I was practically born with a shotgun in one hand an' a bow in the other."

"It's true," Derrick nodded his head, "it's like almost a law or somethin' – that an' don't marry your first cousin like Jimmy Jenkins did cuz, brother man, you don't even wanna know what their kids turned out like." With a feigned shudder, he unlocked the gate and pushed it open before he went on to add, "They're sort of like a cross between a one-eyed alien an' Bigfoot only uglier an' with more hair."

Ignoring Derrick's comments, Sam retorted, "It doesn't mean you're good with them," determined to find fault with anything Drake did or said.

"Are you trying to say you'd be better than me at hunting, Sam?"

"So you're a hunter then, Sam?" Derrick barged into the conversation, more-than-likely sensing the tension between Drake and Sam and with Ron on his way into work wanted to diffuse it before a fight broke out between them.

"Yeah, I hunt things," Sam replied evasively as his gaze briefly flitted to Derrick and then landed back on Drake. "An' yeah, I am saying I'm a helluva lot better hunter than you, Drake. Care to try and prove me wrong?"

"I don't need to prove anything to you – but if I did agree, what do I get when I stomp your ass into the ground?" he asked, a cocksure grin curling on his lips.

"How about a hundred dollars?" Sam replied after giving it a moment's thought. "Or if you're so sure of yourself, we could make it two hundred, but whichever you chose, you better have the money to pay up when you lose."

"I don't want your money, Sam," Drake shook his head, "cuz you look as if you need it way more than I do . . . so if I lose I'll pay you two hundred." He shrugged unconcernedly as he heard Derrick snicker, "But when I win . . . which make no mistake about it – I will win, I want something else instead an' it won't even cost you a dime."

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "An' what's that?"

"I want to know ten things about you that you've never told anyone before . . . an' I want to be able to call you Sammy."

Without giving it an ounce of thought at all Sam shook his head. "No."

"So much for being the better hunter, huh, Sam?" Drake laughed, purposely trying to goad Sam into accepting his terms. "What do you have some deep dark secret you're afraid I'm gonna spread all around Naples? I highly doubt you're interesting enough to feed the gossip mill if that's what you're worried about."

"Dude, take the bet," Derrick piped in, casting a look of confusion at Drake for passing up the opportunity to make an easy two hundred dollars. "Unless you're not as good as you seem to think you are," he added as he pointed toward the Impala parked between two trucks near the back of the lot. "But whatever you decide," he tapped at his watch, "you need to get movin' cuz Ron's gonna be here in like ten minutes, an' then that car's not going anywhere without you paying a huge fine an' filling out a ton of paperwork."

"Fine," Sam muttered after mulling it over for a few more seconds, "it's not like I'm gonna lose anyway." He then stalked away without so much as a thanks to Derrick, and called back over his shoulder, "You coming, Drake, or are you sticking around here to wait for someone else to give you a ride?"

Both Drake and Derrick watched as he opened his car door, slid behind the wheel, and then slammed the door shut. With a shake of his head, Derrick turned incredulous brown eyes on Drake. "Mr. Chipper's really a friend of yours?"

"Not really – he's more like my dentist."

"Your dentist?" Derrick rubbed at the stubbled chin, then quirked a bushy brow as he looked once more toward the Impala.

"Yeah, cuz I know each time I see him it's gonna be like getting my teeth pulled without Novocain, and yet if I don't see him, I know I'll regret it eventually."

"Then, dude, I'd suggest you brush like mad, an' put it off for as long as possible next time around."

"I doubt I'm gonna get that lucky," Drake muttered, raking his fingers through his hair. "Anyway, thanks for doing me this favor, I owe ya one."

"Naww . . . you don't owe me anything, just go do us country boys proud, an' win that bet," he said with a laugh along with a playful wink, and then extended his hand.

Taking hold of his hand, they both gripped tight and feigned a momentary attempt to wrestle the other to the ground, then bumped shoulders and pulled back. "Take care of you, brother man."

"Take care of you, Dray."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam watched the two men from out his side window, and cursed under his breath. Not only did Drake seem to know absolutely everyone within a hundred mile radius, he also appeared to take great pleasure in rubbing it in Sam's face that he had no one.

Narrowing his eyes on his brother as he walked to the car with his head lowered and shoulders sagging a frown crease Sam's brow. The self-assured confidence he'd witnessed in Drake the first time he had seen him at the festival had vanished as had his smile and carefree laughter. In his heart, Sam knew it was his fault – he'd gone out of his way to try and make Drake feel as miserable as he felt, and could clearly see the results in the frown he cast in Sam's direction when he glanced up for a moment and dragged a hand across his jaw.

More than anything, Sam wanted to hate him – he had no right to be alive in place of Dean. He had no right to have the family and friends Dean had never been allowed – and he had absolutely no right to be happy. Not when he was living on a stolen soul.

_You want him dead, Sam? _Came a seductively soft voice whispered against his ear, and even as he shied away from it, he gave pause to consider it. _Just say the word, and I'll do that for you . . . I'd do anything for you – just say yes, Sammy. _

Pressing his eyes closed, he wiped away the tears leaking down his cheeks. "No," he breathed with a shake of his head.

"No, what?" Drake asked, and Sam jumped startled as he hadn't heard the car door creak open.

"Umm . . . no, meaning I wanted you to drive," he uttered, mentally kicking himself when Drake's face lit up at the thought of driving the Impala. His grip tightened around the steering wheel as he foolishly went on to add, "I'm kinda worn out, an' would really appreciate it."

"Dude, are you serious?" His green eyes rounded with an almost childlike glee. "I so want to drive this car . . . I love this car."

"Somehow I knew you would," Sam muttered as he pushed himself over into the passenger's seat and handed Drake the keys.

Drake sprinted around to the driver's side and got in the car. "You know if I ever thought to buy a car this would be exactly the kind I'd want," he went on to say as he stuck the keys in the ignition, and as the car rumbled to life, revved the engine several times before pulling out of the parking spot.

"You don't own a car?" Sam's brow furrowed as he shifted in his seat to study the younger man.

"No," Drake chuckled, "I own two motorcycles, a quad racer, a goldfish named Earl and a horse called Pepper, but I've never really found a car I wanted to own, so I never bought one."

"You have a goldfish named Earl?"

"Yeah, why?" he asked innocently, flicking his gaze toward Sam as he rolled to a stop at the entrance of the impound lot, and then pulled out onto the road.

"I'm trying to figure out which is worse the fact that you own a goldfish or that you named it Earl."

"Earl was my grandfather's name," the smile slipped from Drake's face to be replaced once again by a frown, "an' he won it at the Bath carnival a few weeks before he died, so that's why its name is Earl."

"I'm sorry." Heaving a weary sigh, Sam rubbed at his eyes. "It's a good name for a fish."

"You have any cool pets when you were growing up, Sam?"

His innocent question came like a solid kick in the gut, reminding Sam of all the little reasons why he should hate his brother's younger looking twin. "No, after my mother died, we moved around a lot, so Dean and I never got to have any pets."

"That had to suck." Biting thoughtfully at his lower lip, Drake cast a glance in Sam's direction. "I don't think I'd ever want to move away from Naples . . . I was away for like six months once and I hated every minute of it."

"Well, if you hated it so much, why didn't you just come home?"

"I couldn't," he replied evasively, tapping out a nervous beat on the steering wheel with his thumb as he raked a hand through his shaggy hair.

"Why?" Sam pressed, noting the sudden slump in his brother's posture along with the way he restlessly fidgeted in his seat.

"Can we let this go, Sam?" he asked, turning imploring eyes on Sam.

Within their saddened depths he saw a hint of Dean, and praying he could somehow coax his brother back into existence, he further pushed, "Come on, Drake, you want to know so much about me, so tell me something about you that no one else knows."

"Let it go, Sammy." His voice turned hard as he stopped tapping on the wheel, and his hands gripped tight around it.

"No." Sam shook his head, seeing more traces of Dean in the clenching of Drake's jaw and the grim determined line of his mouth. "Tell me why you couldn't come home, and I'll tell you something about myself that I've never told anyone before – not even Dean."

"I said I don't wanna talk about it so can't you just let it go?"

"Nope, not a chance."

"I was really kinda messed up for a while," Drake breathed in a trembling voice so low Sam almost missed it, "after my brother . . . I never even said goodbye to him . . . an' when Gary found me, he called my parents an' they had me locked away – so that's why I couldn't come home – are you happy now, Sammy?"

"You tried . . . you were going to . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as his he looked to his brother, and saw an unchecked tear roll down his cheek, and mentally kicked himself for only seeing the pretty surface picture of Drake's life, and not taking into consideration that people only showed the world what they wanted them to see, and not the dark feelings they'd rather keep buried. "Pull over . . . pull the goddamned car over right now!"

"I don't wanna talk about this, Sam," he uttered even as he pulled off into the parking lot of a small grocery store, and parked the car. "I'm good now . . . really good – or at least I was until you showed up in town."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, feeling every word he spoke as if it were a sucker punch to his already shattered heart. "Oh, make no mistake about it, we are gonna talk about this." Glaring at the younger man who refused to meet his gaze, Sam clenched his fists, and took several slow measured breaths in a useless attempt to rein in his growing fury. "Damn it you're my . . . I want you to tell me what you did."

"Why do you even care, Sam?" Tilting his head to the side, he met Sam's eyes for a moment and then lowered his head again. "We're not friends – you hate me, remember . . . so why does it even matter?"

"Listen, Drake, if you don't tell me what happened right now, I swear to God, I'll break into the hospital they kept you at, and find out for myself."

"Good luck with that, be sure to write from prison," he replied with a determine set of his jaw, apparently feeling somewhat smug at calling what he believed was a bluff.

"I wasn't kidding, by tomorrow night I'll know everything there is to know about your time in the crazy ward."

"I wasn't crazy, Sam, an' I wasn't trying to kill myself . . . I just wanted the pain to go away –" his voice abruptly died away, and Sam heard him mutter a curse under his breath.

"I know how that feels," Sam found himself saying even though he swore to himself he would never tell Drake anything about his life, "when my dad died it hit Dean really hard – an' I know he had something that I never had with my father – but Dean never saw it . . . never saw how much it was killing me inside that my last words to my dad were said in anger – he probably died believing I hated him, an' no matter what I ever do, I'll never be able to take that back."

"Did you ever tell Dean?"

"I tried – I told him I wasn't alright, but he was too angry after my dad died, an' everything I tried to do to make things better for him only made matters worse . . . so how could I even think to tell him the things I said to our dad. He would've never forgiven me."

"See, that's the problem, Sammy," he uttered as he toyed with the leather band around his neck, "maybe he didn't want you to try and make things better for him. Everyone always believes there's some magical words they can say, an' maybe there are an' no one's figured them out yet – but when your heart is breaking so badly it hurts to breathe, you just kinda wanna know that someone else out there is feeling the same way as you are. Cuz otherwise being all alone in that kind of pain can swallow you whole."

Sam's throat constricted painfully, making it hard to swallow much less breathe as Drake explained exactly how he was feeling at the moment. Tears welled in his eyes as he cast a furtive glance in the younger man's direction, praying their eyes would meet and somehow that would be enough to bring Dean back to him. But it never would be. "It really doesn't matter anymore, Dean's gone so I'd rather not even try and consider the things I should have said or done differently."

"I said it before and I'll say it again, you're a real ass, Sam." With a heavy sigh, Drake shifted the gear into drive, pulled out of the parking spot, and headed back out onto the road. "There's someone I want you to meet, and maybe it'll make you reconsider finding your brother before it's too late to say the things you want him to know."

"I'm really not interested in meeting anymore of your friends, Drake."

"That's okay, cuz it wasn't a request an' I wasn't really giving you a choice in the matter."

Drake cranked up the music to drown out any further argument Sam might make, and fell stonily silent as they drove through the town of Bath. Luckily the ride was relatively short, Bath not being much bigger in size than either Naples or Prattsburgh. Sam's eyes widened considerably when Drake pulled off and headed up a hill toward a cemetery with pristine white headstones lined in perfect precision.

"Did you know when a solider falls in the line of duty, they put his boots on this box with his rifle standing behind it, then they place his helmet over the gun in memorial – Jake sent me pictures of that." With moisture glistening in his eyes, Drake looked briefly to Sam, and then returned his sights to the road. "But after he died, I always wondered what they did if there was nothing much left to place up on those stupid boxes – like maybe those boots and helmet didn't even belong to him, an' if that were true, were his friends even mourning his loss or were they saying their goodbyes to some random pair of government issue boots that would go back into storage for the next guy who was blown apart beyond recognition."

"They were saying their goodbyes to your brother, Drake," Sam uttered, keenly feeling the weight of his brother's pain. "Your brother wasn't a pair of boots, a gun or a helmet, but those were symbols of what he fought and died for, so when they knelt beside them they felt somehow connected to him, and their grief for his loss was real."

"Do you have things like that for Dean?" he asked as he pulled off to the side of the road, and took the keys out of the ignition, pocketing them before Sam had the chance to snatch them away from him. "You know things that he always wore or loved that make you think solely of him?"

"Yeah," Sam's eyes took on a faraway look as he thought back to the Christmas he had given Dean the amulet he always wore around his neck. "He always wore this silver ring, and there was this amulet I gave him for Christmas – I was going to give it to my dad, but he never showed up that day, so I gave it to Dean instead, an' you should've seen the look in his eyes . . . it was like I'd given him the best present in the whole world, and he never took it off from that point onward."

"Would there have ever have been a reason why he might've had to take it off?" Eyes narrowing on Sam as if in confusion, Drake once again fidgeted with the leather strap around his neck. "Or maybe it got lost at some point and he couldn't find it."

Sam drew in a shaky breath at the question, recalling how Castiel had taken the amulet from him in hopes of finding God, and the broken look he saw in Dean's eyes as if his brother already knew he would never see it again. "He lost it a few months ago back, and with it, I think he lost what was left of his hope that things would ever turn out alright."

"Is that why you don't want to find him?"

"I already told you, I did find him, and he's not my brother anymore. So let it go, Drake." Unwilling to discuss the matter any further, Sam flung open the door, and stormed out of the car.

Unfortunately for him, Drake followed, but only to stop and crouch beside his brother's grave. Although the very last thing Sam wanted to do was stand there and listen to Drake talk to his brother, his legs had other ideas, and stood rooted to their spot.

"Hey, big brother," Drake said as he tugged out several pieces of long grass growing alongside the edges of his brother's tombstone. "Dad told me you were watchin' out for them . . . I-I wanted to come an' thank you for that." Rubbing at his eyes, he hitched a thumb over his shoulder at Sam. "That's my friend Sam . . . I wanted him to meet you." Looking back at Sam, he smiled wanly. "Don't just stand there with your mouth hanging open, Sammy, say hi to my brother."

"I don't think this is a good idea, Drake." Raking a hand through his hair, Sam glanced around the cemetery, eyes darting back and forth searching for any possible dangers that might harm his brother. "We should go."

"We just got here, and since I've got the car keys, we're not going anywhere until I'm damn good and ready to leave."

He had Dean's stubbornness in spades, Sam would give him that much, but he found him sorely lacking otherwise. Even if he was an expert in every type of weapon imaginable, he would never be a hunter; it was as simple as that. "Your brother's not here, but do you wanna know what is, Drake?" Drake opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut him off before he had the chance to speak. "Vengeful spirits – they're the only things that ever stick around graveyards, an' if your damn brother was one of them, I'd dig him up and salt 'n burn him just like all the rest." Cursing under his breath for having thoughtlessly blurted out the words that brought both a pained and suspicious look to Drake's eyes, Sam searched his mind for something to say that wouldn't make him seem anymore crazy to the younger man, but nothing came to him except more of the same truths about the things that lurked just out of sight. "I'm sorry," he mumbled with a slight shrug, "I'm not a fan of graveyards."

"I think you should leave, Sam." Pushing to his feet, Drake stood protectively in front of his brother's gravestone as he yanked the car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Sam. "An' I don't just mean the cemetery."

"I'm not leaving you here alone." Sam defiantly stood his ground, and folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. "And I don't plan on leaving town until I've won our bet, so if you're done talking to your _brother_, get your ass in the car before I drag you back there an' throw you in."

Lips curling into a scowl, Drake closed the gap between them, and stood toe to toe with Sam. "You know I really thought we could be friends, but the more I learn about you, the more I really hate you."

Everything momentarily shifted off kilter as moisture gathered at the corners of Sam's eyes, recalling his last words to Dean, and feeling in his gut that he was already losing him a second time around, but still couldn't stop himself from saying, "That's good cuz the feeling is definitely mutual."


	9. Chapter 9

Hey all, thanks for reading and for those of you who took the time to make such awesome comments! They mean so much to me! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Nine_

Sam hadn't been lying when he told Drake he would find out everything about the time he had spent in the psychiatric hospital. And even if Drake had made it clear that he wanted nothing more to do with him before slamming the Impala door shut and stalking away, Sam still couldn't bring himself to walk away without determining for himself if the time he'd spent locked away was something Lucifer could use against him.

The hour and a half drive to the Parkview Psychiatric Hospital in Rochester dragged, and by the time Sam had reached his destination, his nerves were shot. His mind kept wandering back to his last encounter and fight with Drake, wishing he had somehow done things differently. If he had, maybe his stomach wouldn't be flip-flopping now worrying that his brother's life was in danger and he wouldn't be there to protect him.

Dressed as an orderly, he confidently strode through the front door, showed his fake badge to the receptionist on duty, and gave her a line about being from some temp agency which she bought without question. When she pressed the button, he casually walked through the security doors, and made his way through the dimly lit corridors, searching for Doctor Walcott's office. Every noise or raised voice caused him to flinch, recalling the time he and Dean spent at Glenwood Springs Psychiatric Hospital while hunting a wraith. They'd both almost lost their minds before they finally brought the damn thing down, and the thought of that had Sam walking on edge.

Finally finding the doctor's office on the third floor, he glanced around him, making sure no one was around, and then picked the lock. He slipped inside, hastily shut the door behind him, and retrieving his flashlight from pocket, he flipped it on. Sam side stepped around a dark brown leather chair and a matching couch, and headed for the long line of filing cabinets that ran along the back wall behind the doctor's desk. Trailing his fingertips up and down across the metal cabinets, he searched until he came to the files marked M's and then picked the flimsy lock.

He flipped through the files until he came across Drake's file, opened it briefly, noting a few tapes amongst the thick stack of papers, and then closing it he stuffed the entire file beneath his shirt.

Having what he came for, Sam slipped unseen back out into the hallway, and took the stairs to the first floor. The receptionist gave him a quizzical look as he hurried toward the entrance, and getting to her feet, she followed him.

"Hey," she called out, stopping him as he pushed open the front door, "where are you going? Didn't you just start about an hour ago?"

"Umm . . . yeah," Sam said, and cast what he hoped to be a wide-eyed fearful expression as he glanced back inside the mental institution, "but I'm not working here," he gestured around the place, "those people in there are crazy . . . certifiable even. What kind of place is this any ways?" A smile flitted across his features as he remembered Dean shouting for pudding and dropping his pants when they had been caught in the hospital morgue by the nurse turned wraith, and hoping to hide it, Sam quickly lowered his head before the receptionist had the chance to notice. "This one guy kept shouting for pudding, and then he pulled his pants down right in front of me. How am I ever supposed to forget something like that?"

"Didn't the temp agency tell you this was a psychiatric hospital?"

"Well, yeah, but they didn't say there'd be crazy people here." Placing a hand on her shoulder, he shook his head as if in awed disbelief at all he had witnessed in his short time there, he went on to add, "The pudding pants guy's now permanently etched into my mind, an' if I need therapy after this, I may just have to sue someone for extreme mental anguish."

Flustered, the petite blond, looked over her shoulder and down the first floor corridor then looked back to Sam. "I'm sorry," she uttered as she took a step away from him, more than likely thinking he needed to be locked up as well. "I'll call the agency and ask them to send someone to replace you."

"You do that," Sam said as he backed out the front door, "an' while you're at it, tell them Robert Plant quit, and make sure they send me my last check."

"Shouldn't you tell them that yourself?" she asked with a delicate lift of her brow.

His eyes widened in feigned incredulity at her suggestion. "Has pudding pants guy already slipped your mind? Haven't I suffered enough?"

"Alright, I'll tell them," she waved her hand toward the door, "just go, okay."

"Thanks," Sam smiled as he glanced at her name badge, "I'll remember to have them call you as a character witness if this ever does go to a civil trial, Susan."

Without another word, Sam pivoted on his heel, made a hasty exit and hurried to the Impala. He drove a short distance, and then with curiosity getting the better of him, he pulled off into the parking lot of Jay's Diner, and grabbed the file off the passenger's seat. Every nerve ending in his body quivered as if thousands of butterflies were frantically fluttering around inside of his body desperately searching for escape as he pulled out one of the Drake's recorded sessions, and stuck it into the tape player.

Pressing his eyes closed, he was able to imagine it was Dean speaking in the recording without the visual aid of Drake to remind him his brother was gone, and a slow smile spread across his face.

_"How are you feeling today, Drake?" _came the doctor's voice over the car speakers, and after a lengthy pause Drake finally responded.

_"I'm locked up in here with people like you asking me how I'm feeling every damn minute of the day, so how the hell do you think I'm feeling?"_

_"Nurse Crenshaw told me you got a hold of a lighter and burned your journal do you want to tell me why?"_

_"They were songs I was writing, I didn't like how they turned out, so I burned them."_

_"Were they songs about your brother?" _Dead air came over the recording for several very long minutes, and then the doctor prompted again. _"Drake, I know you're hurting because of your brother's death, but it wasn't your fault."_

_"But it is my fault,"_ came Drake's voice, and it was filled with such self-hatred and loathing, Sam pushed aside his need to think of the younger man as Dean, and pried his eyes open. _"I told him not to bother coming home. He didn't. So you can make all your bullshit speeches about it not being my fault and that I should forgive myself, but it'll never chance the fact that he's gone because of me."_

_"Your last words to him weren't the thing that killed him, Drake, he died in the war – and I know you somehow want to make that your fault, but it's not. If you had told him you loved him, to stay safe and come home when he was finished with his mission, it wouldn't have changed a thing. He still would have died."_

As the tape continued to play, Sam snatched Drake's file off the seat, and flipped it open. The first page contained a medical report that gave a detailed account of Drake's blood alcohol level at the time he was admitted to the hospital which was over twice the legal limit along with the other drugs they'd found in his system. From the early bleak reports, the doctors were uncertain if he would survive, and noted that even if he did, brain damage was inevitable, but against the odds, he not only survived but made a complete recovery.

Stomach churning Sam went on to read what both Drake's parents had to say about Drake's attempted suicide, and learned that when Gary had found him passed out cold on the ground in the barn, he was holding a gun in his hand. "That sonuvabitch," he hissed under his breath, recalling how Drake had told him he wasn't trying to kill himself and that he just wanted to make the pain go away.

Throwing the file aside on the seat, Sam started the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot. As he hightailed it back to Naples, he continued listening to the tapes one by one as he mulled over how Lucifer could use everything on them to drive Drake over the edge again. And sure the angels had gave him a miracle in saving his family's lives, but what would happen when his friends started dying in their places?

Driving reckless speeds Dean would have been proud of, Sam made it back to Naples in record time. However once back in the small town, he had no clue where to go to find Drake. But luckily he didn't have to search long as he spied Gary's truck at the local gas station, and saw the lean man exiting the building. He hastily pulled in to the lot and parked alongside his truck.

"Nice car," Gary commented, bobbing his head toward the Impala as Sam slid out of the driver's seat, "No wonder you were so eager to get it back the other day."

"Where's Drake?" Sam asked, not bothering to respond to the hazel-eyed man's comment about Dean's car.

"I dunno." Gary shrugged as he took a sip of the bottle of pop in his hand. "But if I had to guess, it would probably be one three places – either at his house, his parent's place or at the hospital with Bear an' Jasper."

Sam lifted a brow in confusion. "His house?"

"Yeah, I know it's weird, right." He chuckled. "Twenty-one years old and he still lived at home with his parents when his grandparents left him an' Jake their house in their will. An' it's beautiful, too. Seventy acres of land, two-story home, horse barns . . . hell, if I were him I would've moved in there a long time ago – but Drake doesn't like being alone, so I guess it makes sense."

"Where is it?"

"It's over on Tannery Creek Road," he gestured down the road, "go out of here an' take a left, then take another left right after Cohocton Street. It's a big gray house with black shutters, ya can't miss it."

"Thanks." Sam was about to get back into his car, when he remembered Drake's file, and turned back to the lanky man, and asked, "Can I ask you something since you know Drake a whole lot better than me?"

"I guess so." Taking off his trucker cap, Gary scratched at the back of his head, and then swiping the back of his hand across his forehead, he replaced it.

"I know he spent some time in a mental institution, and I also know that you were the one to find him after he . . . ." his voice trailed off as he thought of the deal Dean had made to save his life. Sure he hadn't taken a gun to his head, or mixed massive amounts alcohol with a bunch of pills, but in essence wasn't it the same thing? Dean had chosen to end his life just as Drake had tried to kill himself, only Drake had taken a more direct route while Dean chose to die a very slow death ticking off the days until the hellhounds tore him apart. It was just one more thing in a growing list of things the two had in common. "Is he really alright like he likes to say he is?"

"Huh," Gary's brow's knit together as hurt registered in his eyes, "he told you all that? He doesn't usually talk about that with anyone – not even me or Bear. So it's really kinda hard to say if he's doing okay . . . but if had to take a stab at it, I'd say he puts up a good front, an' he's a helluva lot better than he was, but I think he's still feeling a world of hurt and guilt over Jake's death."

"That's what I thought." Sam turned back, about to get in his car, when Gary reached out and grasped hold of his arm, stopping him.

"Listen," he said as he met and held Sam's gaze, "I don't know what your deal is with Drake, but he's changed since you came to town, an' I just wanted you to know that us country boys, we stick together, an' if you hurt him, so help me God, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

"You don't have to worry I'm not planning on sticking around much longer." Sam shirked free of Gary's grasp, and slid behind the wheel of his car. Without waiting for Gary to respond, he slammed his door shut, and took off.

As he drove, he tried to think of which of the three places Drake might be at, and unable to decide, he focused his thoughts on which place Dean would go to if it were him. That quickly discounted the hospital – Dean hated hospitals in general so that would be the last place he would willingly subject himself to. He then thought of the last two places, considering Drake's house as a motel and his parent's home as the Impala, and the choice was easy. If it were Dean, he would return to the place he'd grown up in, and if Drake was truly like him, he would be at his parent's house instead of his own home.

From memory, he drove the relatively short distance to Drake's parent's house, and noticing a motorcycle in the gravel driveway, he pulled in and parked behind it. For a moment, he sat watching the yellow cautionary tape blow docilely in the breeze as he prepared himself for another confrontation with his brother, and then grabbed Drake's file off the passenger's seat. As he got out of the car, the charred scent of burnt timber assailed his senses, and it took him back to the night Jessica had died. Her face was slowly fading from his memory as his mind filled to overflowing with other people he had known and cared about that had died along the way, and most prevalent amongst them was Dean's face.

More than anything, he wanted to get back in the car and drive away before he was forced to add Drake to the list of people who would die because of him, but if he did leave would he be condemning the younger man to die all the quicker? With a heavy groan, he pushed his fingers through his hair, and lumbered toward the rubble.

"Drake?" he called out as he took in the blackened walls and crumbling remains of what once was the stairs to the second floor. When he didn't respond, Sam tapped his foot on the burnt floorboards in front of him, and hoping they would withstand his weight, took a tentative step inside. The creaking boards sagged under his weight, and he quickly moved forward as the wood splintered and buckled, dropping to the basement below. "Drake, answer me!"

Ash covered debris and glass crunched beneath his feet like snow as he carefully made his way through the skeletal remains of the house, and at every eerily loud creak and groan in the weakened timber, his heart raced a little faster. "Drake, if you're here, you'd better damn well answer me now!"

As he came to a gaping hole in the floor, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Grabbing for his flashlight, he crouch beside it, and directed the beam of light into the darkness below. "Drake, if you're down there please just answer me . . . come on, lil' brother, just say something so I know you're okay."

Carefully laying flat on his stomach, he pushed forward slightly and lowered his hand down inside the hole, shining the light all across the basement, and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized Drake wasn't there. For the first time in his life, he felt a hint of what it must have been like to be Dean, constantly on guard fearing something would happen to Sam, and although Sam had always believed they'd shared the same feelings in the regards of each other's safety, he was more than wrong. There was no way in hell he could step into the role of big brother. He would fail miserably and Drake would be the one to suffer for it.

Slowly pushing himself to his feet, he edged his way around the hole, and made his way to what must have been the kitchen. The only two things that remained almost intact were the refrigerator and the stove; everything else had burnt to ash and rubble. With one last look around the shell of a room, he headed out the backdoor, and that was when he noticed the barn.

_If he's in there, I'm gonna kill him for making me think he'd be stupid enough to go inside his house like I did. _

Sam walked the short distance to the barn, pushed open the door, and was assailed with the scent of damp hay, and then heard the whiny of a horse in one of the back stalls. Near the entrance of the drafty building he noticed another motorcycle and the four-wheeler Drake had mentioned to him. What he'd failed to mention were the four snowmobiles and two Ski-dos that they also owned, and as he stared at them, his anger grew to overshadow his fears for his little brother's safety.

"Drake, are you in here?" he called out, and hearing a noise from up in the loft, he raised his sights toward the wooden platform above.

"G-go away, Sam," Drake responded after a lengthy pause, and at the tremor Sam heard in his voice, his anger vanished to be replaced by fear as he glanced down at the file in his hand.

Sam crossed the barn in quick strides, and climbed the ladder to the loft. Taking a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the light streaming through the large open window, he then lowered his sights to his brother sitting on the ground in front of it with his legs dangling outside the wide opening.

"You lied to me," he said as he took several cautionary steps toward the younger man. "You looked me right in the eyes, and you lied."

Drake shifted in his seat, and peered up at Sam. "What the hell are you talking about, Sammy?"

"I'm talking about this?" Lifting the file so Drake could see it, he threw it on the floor beside him. The pages inside the manila folder scattered across the ground, and Drake's mouth dropped wide open as he picked up one of them and quickly skimmed the content. "You said you weren't trying to kill yourself, but it sure the hell sounded like it to me."

His eyes rounded incredulously as he looked from Sam to the page in his hand and back again. "You broken into the hospital an' stole my files?"

"I told you I would – now tell me again how you weren't trying to commit suicide cuz somehow it seems a little less believable when you add in the parts about Gary finding you with a gun in your hand, and enough alcohol and drugs in your system to kill a horse."

"Get out of my barn, and off my family's land before I call the police an' have you thrown in jail," Drake gritted out as he snatched up the rest of the papers in his file and held them tightly to his chest.

"Believe me I wish I could, but you're my – I'm not going anywhere." Clenching his hands into tight fists, Sam stood his ground. "So you'd better damn well start talking, an' this time try using the truth."

"Fine, if you're not going to leave, then I will." Drake pushed himself to his feet, and stalked toward the ladder, but didn't make it far as Sam snaked out a hand and gripped a tight hold of his arm. "Let go of my arm, Sam," he snarled, body twitching and eyes glistening with pure fury as he struggled to break free of Sam's grasp.

"Not until you tell me the truth."

"I did tell you the truth, but that wasn't good enough for you . . . no, you had to go and steal my file – I sure hope it made for great reading, you stupid sonuvabitch."

"I had to look at them, Drake, I can't protect you if I don't know what I'm up against!" Sam shouted and instantly regretted it, knowing he had said way too much.

"Protect me from what, Sam?" Drake's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stopped squirming trying to break loose of Sam's hold on him. "I don't need you to protect me from anything."

"Yeah, you do, you just don't realize it yet," Sam replied evasively as he doubted Drake would believe the truth if he told him.

"I'm not even gonna pretend like I know what you're talking about . . . and at the moment I really don't even care." With a shake of his head, Drake breathed a heavy sigh as he allowed the file to slip from his fingers. Crisp white pages marred with blackened ink scattered across the floor, and blew out of the window on the stiff cool breeze, and with shimmering eyes he watched them blow away but made no attempt to gather them back together. "You know, when I heard your voice a couple of minutes ago, and saw you come up the ladder, I was stupid enough to be happy to see you, and now I don't even know why."

"Drake, I'm not trying to hurt you, I just – "

"Yeah, you are, Sammy," Drake abruptly cut him off, "but the really sad part is that I'm letting you do it. It's sick and twisted, but even if you let go of my arm, I don't think I could walk away, so maybe I really am fucked up in the head."

"Maybe we both are," Sam muttered, releasing his hold of Drake, "I've been trying to bring myself to leave since the moment I met you a few days ago, an' but instead of going like I know I should, I keep finding reasons why I need to stay."

"Why couldn't you just believe me when I said I wasn't trying to kill myself?" Trudging back to the window, Drake leaned against the sturdy frame, wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow and then rubbed at his watery eyes. "I already have enough people worried that I'm gonna slip off the deep end again, so why'd you have to break in and steal my medical reports?"

"I had to know, and I'm not sorry for doing what I had to do to find out the truth."

"Did the report happen to tell you I was just cleaning my gun before I passed out cold?" Drake lifted a brow as he pushed away from the wooden frame and dangle his foot out the opening. "No, I'm pretty sure it didn't. Attempted suicide makes for a helluva lot better reading than to say some dumb jerk used really poor judgment when he was drunk an' stoned off his ass."

Sam's stomach flip-flopped as he watched his brother dip his foot lower out of the opening in the loft, but stayed rooted to his spot. Drake was trying to get a rise out of him, he was certain of it, and it was working. Sure he probably wouldn't die if he fell from the loft, but there was no doubt in Sam's mind he would get seriously injured.

"You were more than just a little drunk or stoned, Drake. Don't forget I read the reports, and by all accounts you shouldn't even be alive."

"They took one of my best friends off of life support this morning, so I'm really not in the mood to argue with you about this, Sammy." Casting a glance in Sam's direction, Drake momentarily lost his balance, teetered precariously on the ledge with arms flailing, and just as Sam lurched forward to grab hold of him, he regained his balance. "I wasn't going to fall," he uttered with a shake of his head.

Drake met and held his gaze, and it was then that Sam noticed how bloodshot his eyes were, and that might not have bothered him as he could understand him being upset that his friend was going to die – but what did bother him was how dilated his brother's pupils were, and the jerky twitch of his arms and legs. "What'd you take, Drake?"

As Sam narrowed his eyes on Drake, he quickly lowered his head, and that was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. "I didn't take anything."

"Do I look stupid to you? Or did you just think I wouldn't notice that you're high?"

"I don't really care if you think I'm high or not, Sam," Drake shouted, jabbing his index finger into Sam's chest, pushing him backwards a few inches, "cuz the truth is it's none of your damn business."

"Everything about you is my business." Lifting a hand, Sam pushed Drake back. Eyes widening Sam reached out to grab hold of Drake as the younger man lost his balance, teetered briefly as his foot slid over the edge of the ledge, but he caught nothing but air as his brother tumbled out of the window.

"Drake!" he shouted as he heard a scream of pain from his brother followed by an almost deafening silence. With his heart in his throat, Sam rushed to the ledge and peered down at his little brother lying on the ground below. His right leg was bent at an awkward angle, and Sam's breath caught and lodged in his throat as he noticed a stain of red slowly spreading across his t-shirt.


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks again for taking the time to read! I hope everyone is still enjoying and a huge thanks to those h=who took the time to review!!! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Ten_

_Oh God, what the hell did I do?_ With one last look at his brother, Sam spun around, ran to the ladder, practically slid down it, and took off at a dead run toward the back of the barn. Dropping to his knees beside Drake, he lightly pressed trembling fingers against the artery at the side of his brother's throat, and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally detected a pulse. Then lowering his head, he tilted it to the side and silently listened and watched until he heard Drake's weak raspy breath and saw his chest slowly rise and fall.

"Drake, ya gotta wake up for me," he pleaded, eyes filling with tears, "come on, lil' brother, open your eyes, an' talk to me."

"Sss'mm," Drake slurred, eyes fluttering open briefly before they rolled backward, and his eyelids closed again. "Ss'hurs." Wincing, he cried out as he weakly clutched at his side.

"It's gonna be okay, I gotcha ya, lil' brother," Sam breathed, carefully prying his brother's hand away from his side so he could take a look at the injury. It was then that he spied the large pointy rock that had sliced through Drake's shirt and skin. With shaky hands, he slowly lifted his brother's shirt, and noted that although fairly deep, the jagged wound was not a life-threatening injury as long as he could control the bleeding. Pulling off his jacket and flannel shirt, he pressed the soft fabric of the shirt against the gash, and cursed under his breath as Drake cried out again.

Craning his neck, he glanced up at the wide opening in the barn high overhead and cursed under his breath again as he saw that it was a lot further up than he'd first thought as someone had used a backhoe to unearth the area around the barn's foundation at some point. "I have to get you to the hospital."

"N-no," he stammered as his eyelids sluggishly lifted open, and he tried to focus terrified dilated eyes on Sam. "Sss'uz mm'job."

"They're not gonna find out you were high," Sam lied, knowing that as soon as the doctors ordered any sort of blood work the drugs in his system would show up on the reports. "You could have internal injuries, Drake; I have to take you to the hospital."

"Mm'no' g-goin'," Drake stubbornly refused, and in true Dean Winchester fashion, he struggled to push himself upward only to let out a sharp cry and fall backward to the ground again.

"Dean, I can't . . . ." Pressing his eyes closed, Sam let out a slew of curse words as he realized that he had slipped and called Drake by his brother's name. "You could die, Drake. I can't let that happen – I won't let that happen."

"Pl-please, Sss'mm," he panted breathlessly, body beginning to tremble uncontrollably with shock, and against his better judgment, Sam nodded.

"Listen to me, Drake," he ordered as he wrapped his jacket around his brother, and gripped hold of his hand, "I have to go get the first aid kit from my car and find something I can use to immobilize your head and neck then I'll be right back – Don't try an' move while I'm gone. Understood?"

"Mmm'hmm."

Leaping to his feet, Sam raced to the Impala, got inside and drove it back behind the barn. As soon as he parked the car a few feet away from where Drake was lying on the ground, he was out of his vehicle in a shot, and rushing to the trunk to gather together the first aid kit, a thick towel, duct tape, and several heavy blankets.

His heart beat thundered in his ears as he hurried to his brother and dropped down beside him once again. Rolling up a blanket, he gently lifted Drake's legs, placed it beneath them, and then wrapped the other two around him. Then fashioning the towel into a makeshift neck brace, he carefully slipped it beneath his brother's neck and wrapped it around, securing it with a long strip of duct tape.

"'Mm gonna be s-sick, Sss'mm." The words had scarcely left Drake's mouth when he heaved and gagged, choking on his own vomit.

As carefully and quickly as he could possibly manage, Sam rolled him onto his side and his heart slammed into his throat when he saw Drake's shaggy hair slicked with blood. Body trembling, he mulled over all the other things he might be missing, and determined that he wasn't willing to take the risk. "Drake, you're going to the hospital – I know they're gonna find out you're high on something, but you could be bleeding internally, an' I can't fix that."

"Ss'is m-my righ' ta refuse treeemm," Drake slurred as he struggled to keep his drooping eyelids opened and stay focused on Sam. "Nnaa gonna sss'uz mm'job."

From his years in law school, Sam knew Drake was right. As long as he was conscious, and understood the risks, he could refuse any and all medical treatment. Which left Sam with only two choices – he could either do his best to make sure Drake stayed alive long enough for the drugs to leave his system or he could knock him out cold thereby making sure he couldn't refuse treatment. And although the second option sounded pretty damn good at the moment, he just couldn't bring himself to hurt his little brother anymore than he already had.

"What the hell did you take, you stupid son of a bitch?" he growled as he snatched the first aid kit off the ground, flung open the lid and rummaged through it to find gauze and medical tape. "An' this time you'd better damn well answer me so I'll know if I can give you anything for the pain or if you'll just have to ride it out."

"Crssss mmmthh . . . ."

"Crystal Meth?" Sam's eyes widened incredulously as Drake gave a slight nod, wanting to smack the living hell out of him for being so stupid. "Where the hell did you get it from?" he asked, determined to find whoever it was and make sure it was the last time the person ever gave drugs to anyone.

"Fr-friend."

"Your friend's a dead man when I find him," Sam breathed the vow as he quickly worked to bandage up Drake's head injury, and then moved lower to cover the long gash on his side. As he glanced back at Drake and noticed his eyes were closed, he gently shook him, and breathed a thankful sigh when his brother's eyelids sluggishly fluttered open. "You're gonna have to stay awake for me, lil' brother. Understand?"

"Mm'so tired, Sss'mmmy," Drake mumbled, eyeballs rolling backward as his eyelids drooped closed again.

"Yeah, I know you are, but you fall asleep, you might not wake up – so you are staying awake for me. Got that?"

His lips quivered as they parted slightly and his tongue slid out to drag along them. "R-really h-hate ya."

Tears stinging at his eyes, Sam squeezed them shut. "I already know that, so think of something else to say cuz even if you do hate me, I'm still not letting you go to sleep." Body trembling, he wearily rose to his feet, and searched around until he found two tree branches thick enough to use as a brace for the younger man's leg, and then returned to his spot.

"I almost lost my brother Dean three times before th-they . . . ." his voice trailed off on a stammer, not sure why he was telling Drake about Dean, but needed something to fill the unbearable silence only broken by the younger man's soft cries and moans as Sam worked to set his leg. "See, the first time I thought it was a real miracle that he lived – I was a believer an' jumped wholeheartedly on the bandwagon. But Dean didn't see it that way . . . an' he was right – there are always consequences that have to be paid."

"'Sss a miracle, Ss'mmy . . . didnaa wanna die."

Sam's head snapped up, certain in those few seconds Dean had somehow managed to break through, and saw in Drake's pain-filled gaze a look that solely belonged to his brother. "The second time – " Sam licked at his lips, and swallowed hard as he thought of finding his father on the hospital room floor, and how the cup he'd been holding slipped from his grasp, coffee spilling to splatter across bland white tiles as he rushed to his dad's side. "My dad made his own kind of miracle for my brother – an' the last time, my brother followed my dad's lead an' made a miracle for me – an' with everything in my heart, I wished to God he hadn't."

"Mm'loved ya, Ss'mmy."

"I know you did, Dean," Sam breathed, wiping away the tears rolling down his cheeks with back of his hand. "An' I hope you knew the feeling was mutual."

An abrupt cry ripped from Drake's lips, and wrapping his arms around his stomach, he tried to curl inward, but Sam snaked out his arms, and gripped onto his shoulder to keep him from moving. "H-Hurzz, Jake . . . l-le' g-go o' m-me."

Sam pushed down the painful lump in his throat as he heard Drake call him by his brother's name. "I know it does, Drake, but you have to stay still or you could make matters worse than they already are."

"Knew y-you'd come back ta m-me." A brief smile flitted across Drake's features then was overshadowed by a grimace as he cried out again.

"You've gotta let me take you to the hospital, lil' brother," Sam uttered as he gathered Drake into his arms, and carefully lifted him off the ground to rest against his chest. "You're not gonna live long enough long enough for the drugs to be out of your system – no matter what you do, they're gonna find out."

"N-no . . . made a pr-promise ta sss-save 'em if m-my fam – " His words died abruptly as he began choking and gagging, and Sam swiftly tilted him sideways so he could throw up once more.

Eyes widening, Sam drew in a sharp staggering breath when he saw blood splatter to the ground and drip down Drake's chin. Body going suddenly limp, Drake's head drooped to the side.

"Drake!" Heart slamming hard against the wall of his chest, Sam laid his brother on the ground, and leaned down to listen and feel for his breath, to no avail. "No! You're not dying on me again, Dean!"

Tilting his brother's neck back, he pried open his mouth, cleared it out the best he could, and pinching Drake's nose, blew into his mouth – but Sam's breath came right back out without a rise in the younger man's chest.


	11. Chapter 11

so, another chapter, a little longer as there was a lot to cover. Enjoy!! hugs, Ember

_Chapter Eleven_

Ashen-faced, a tinge of blue colored Drake's lips as Sam tore off his neck brace, tilted his head back a little further and tried once again to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation with the same grim results. Something was blocking his airway, and Sam didn't dare risk lodging it in further by swiping his finger through his mouth again to try and clear it out.

Panic setting in, Sam tore through first aid kit searching for a penlight, hoping he could see the obstruction to better determine his next course of action, but couldn't find one. Raking his hands through his hair, he looked all around as he screamed at the top of his lungs for someone to help him. The sounds of dogs barking in the distance, and birds chirping and flapping their wings in the trees high overhead reached his ears, but those were the only noises he heard.

Pulling Drake into his arms, and cradling him closely, he dropped his head back onto his shoulders to look heavenward. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he cried out, "God, please help me save my brother . . . please just once answer me."

"I'm here, Sam," Castiel called out from behind Sam, and Sam jumped, momentarily startled, and then relief flooded through him. "I hadn't expected you to push your brother out of the loft or I would have come sooner."

"Cas, you have to fix him . . . do whatever you've gotta do, but save my brother's life."

"You mean Drake's life?"

"No, I mean my brother's life . . . now get your ass moving and heal him."

"He'll question it, Sam," Castiel uttered as he crouched beside Sam, and placed a hand on Drake's forehead. "Are you going to tell him about me when he does?"

"I'll figure out something to tell him."

"So you're going to lie." A look of disappointment furrowed at the angel's brow as he slowly shook his head. "Weren't there enough lies between you and Dean – this is your chance to start out fresh with no lies between the two of you – I'd suggest you take it."

"I can't tell him an angel saved his life." Sam swallowed hard, recalling how Drake had said he'd promised to save them all if his – his words had cut off then, but Sam knew he'd meant his family lived, and if he told him that Castiel had saved him, he would say yes to Michael. "It'll be the thing that makes him say yes to Michael, and I can't let that happen – Dean didn't want that to happen."

"So you're never going to tell him that he's your brother?" As Castiel spoke, his fingertips began to gleam with brilliant light, heat emanating from them, and Sam was forced to turn his head and shield his eyes.

"No, he had a brother he loved – he doesn't want someone like me to try and take Jake's place."

"Did you ever stop to consider that maybe Jake was just standing in for you – he is Dean after all."

"No, he's just a watered down version of my brother, an' if given the choice, I would never chose him over Dean."

"Well, whether he is your brother or just Drake to you – I have healed him." Castiel stood, and pushed his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

Sam pulled away the blankets covering Drake, and looked over him over, searching for any signs at all that he had been critically injured, but found none. Yet, although Sam could see the gentle rise and fall of Drake's chest as he breathed in and out, the younger man eyes remained closed even as Sam tried to nudge him awake. "If you healed him, why isn't he waking up?"

"He almost died, Sam – he's tired." Glancing up at the opening in the loft, Castiel looked back at Drake and went on to add, "With the fall he took, I'd imagine he'll wake up somewhere around noon tomorrow."

"Noon? Tomorrow?" Sam's eyes widened considerably. "What am I supposed to do with him until then? I'm sure the whole freakin' town will be looking for him – an' there'll definitely be some sort of hick country boy lynch mob wanting to hunt me down."

"I don't know what to tell you, Sam." He shrugged unconcernedly. "It was my job to heal him – an' so I guess it's your job to babysit until he wakes up." With that said, he disappeared leaving Sam to take care of the unconscious man by himself.

"I should've left town the moment I met you," he grumbled as he got to his feet, lifted Drake into his arms and carried him to the car, "but no, I had to stick around . . . go to a few fires, an' then push you out of a window because my life wasn't screwed up enough before this."

Gently placing Drake on the passenger's seat, he pulled the seatbelt around him and snapped it into place. Exhausted and dead on his feet from all the mental stress he had just endured, Sam trudged to the driver's side, got in, and eased the door closed. As he drove to the motel he was staying at, he mulled over exactly what he was going to tell Drake when he finally managed to wake up, but every lie seemed too farfetched to be even remotely believable.

"I can't tell him the truth," he muttered under his breath as he cast a sideways glance at the sleeping man, and a smile crept across his face at how peacefully unaware his little brother appeared. As Drake, Dean had no horrific memories of Hell to mar his dreams, turning them all into vivid nightmares, and for that much, Sam was grateful to the younger man.

Once at the motel, Sam got out of the car, took a quick look around, and when he was fairly certain no one was around, he lifted Drake out of the vehicle and carried him inside his room. Carefully laying him down on the spare bed, Sam snatched a shirt out of his duffel bag and made quick work of taking off Drake's bloodied and torn shirt. For a brief moment he studied the silver cross necklace his brother wore, noting the protective pentagram worked into the center of it, and then his gaze was drawn to the leather cording of another necklace with a charm that lay hidden beneath the thick silver cross. Of the two, he was certain the leather necklace meant more to Drake as he had seen him toying with it several times, but resisted the urge to find out what sort of charm dangled from it.

As he replaced the ruined t-shirt with the clean flannel, he noticed a small plastic bag poking out of Drake's jean's pocket, and yanked it out. Holding the baggie up to the light, he studied the crystal rock inside, and shaking his head, he glanced back at the blissful sleeping man. Anger seethed through him, and it took every sheer ounce of willpower he possessed not to throttle his brother for risking everything he had just to get high.

"You don't even realize how good you've got it, do you?" he asked, gripping hold of Drake's shirt, and pulling him forward. "You have tons of friends, a home – family – why the hell do you need this?"

Even as he spoke, Sam recalled slicing a broken piece of glass through a demon girl's neck to drink her blood, and when he was finished with her he moved on to her partner. No one ever sets out to be an addict, but once they get a taste of the powerful euphoria a quick fix brings them, it quickly drags them under and becomes a demon in its own right. "You're not ever using this crap again. Got me?" He shook his little brother, and watched as his head drooped to the side, unaware of anything he had said.

With a heavy sigh, Sam stood and went into the bathroom to flush his brother's drugs down the toilet, and as he did he wondered how hard it had to have been for Dean to stand by and watch him go through withdrawal. And if Drake was as addicted to meth as Sam was to demon blood how hard would it be for him to kick the habit?

Uncertain of what he would have to do to detox his brother, and unable to sleep until he knew for certain Drake was all right, Sam headed back out into the main room and grabbed his laptop to research any and all drugs his brother might have taken to prepare himself for the worst. His fears were confirmed as he read that crystal meth was a dangerously addictive drug and it was highly suggested that any treatment should be done in a drug recovery facility.

Eyelids growing heavy after hours and hours of referencing and cross-referencing every website he could find on drugs and their various withdrawal symptoms and treatments, he rubbed at them and then stood to stretch out the kinks in his neck, back and shoulders. Then after checking on Drake to make sure he was doing all right, he gave in to his need for sleep, and flopped down on his bed.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

With a groan, Drake pried his eyes open, blinked hard several times, and then glanced around at unfamiliar room. His gaze landed on the bed opposite of his own, and narrowed on the sleeping form of Sam. He then glanced down and noticed he was wearing an oversized flannel shirt that had to have belonged to the older, bigger man, and heaved another heavy groan. His hand immediately went to his throat, and breathed a thankful sigh when his fingers gripped around the leather necklace that had belonged to Dean. His fingertips then slid downward, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he touched upon the skin of his chest and found no scar. Grasping hold of his shirt, he pulled it away from himself and glanced down, searching for the raised scar he had gotten when dirt-biking down the mountain with Bear, but it was gone.

Eyes widening incredulously, he pulled his hand away, and lifted it closer to his face, searching for the thin scar that had wrapped around his thumb and index finger from a cut he had received while working on his motorcycle in the barn, but it was gone as well. _No freakin' way. _He shook his head in disbelief as he searched for more scars only to find that they had all vanished. _It's not possible – it's just not possible._

His gaze flew back to the sleeping man certain he was somehow responsible for the disappearance of his scars. Memories then came rushing back of falling from the loft in his barn, and he groped at his side for the deep cut he had gotten from landing on a rock, but found nothing. _What the hell is he? And what the hell did he do to me?_

Determined to find out the answer to both of those questions Drake slid from his bed, and snatched Sam's cell phone and car keys off the bedside table. Slipping quietly from the motel room, he eased the door shut behind him, and strode to the Impala.

Drake slid behind the wheel, and then ducked his head to search beneath the passenger's seat, and pulled what looked to be an old worn journal. Momentary guilt rattled through him, but he pushed it aside recalling how Sam had thought nothing of stealing his medical files to learn everything about him.

His brow furrowed as he flipped through the pages filled with folklore bullshit about white ladies, wendigos, and every other sort of creature imaginable. The only thing he found of interest or even relatively useful came from the first few pages, and Drake felt himself trembling as he read about Mary, and how whoever had written the journal found the answers they were searching for when they went to Missouri. _What kind of answers could anyone ever find in Missouri? I'm certainly not driving all the way there to find out anything. _

Uncertain how long he had before Sam woke up, he tucked the book in his waistband, and then flipped open the glove compartment. Rummaging through it, he yanked out a box, flipped it open, and his eyes widened as he pulled out various credit cards and photo ids identifying Sam as different people on each one of them.

"What the hell are you, Sam?" he muttered aloud as he held up a fake FBI badge to study it more closely. Pocketing the badge, Drake slid out of the car, and walked to the trunk.

At first glance he saw nothing out of the ordinary when he opened the lid, but noticing the matting was slightly askew, he pulled it away to find a hidden compartment beneath. As he yanked off the covering, his eyes grew huge as he took in every sort of weapon imaginable. Machetes. Guns. Crossbows, Wicked looking blades - A complete one man arsenal.

Rifling through the contents of the trunk, he found several bags of rock salt, candles of various colors, and strange books he didn't even want to know the titles to and was more than thankful that they were written in some foreign language that appeared to be Latin.

Heart lurching into his throat, Drake hastily closed the compartment lid, and slammed the trunk. _Sam the Satanistic psycho serial killer is my new best buddy. Shit, I'm so screwed!_

Nervously tapping his fingertips against the trunk of the car, he tried his damnedest to come up with any other logical explanation for all the things he'd found in Sam's car, but always came back to one conclusion – Sam was definitely not someone he wanted to have anything to do with. Ever.

Desperately hoping to change his mind about the man, he yanked Sam's cell phone out of his pocket, opened it and searched the contact list for Dean's phone number, but couldn't find it amongst the few names listed. Undeterred and somewhat surprised to find his father's number listed as he thought he was dead, he jabbed the button to call him instead.

The phone rang a few times, and then went to voice mail, "This is John Winchester – if you can't get a hold of me, call my son Sam at 566-1354, he can help."

At the sound of the older man's serious tone, Drake began to tremble feeling an odd flipping sensation in the pit of his stomach as if he'd heard the voice before. "Help with what?" Drake's brows pulled together as he dialed the number and listened to the man speak again. "Probably with killing someone. Yeah, so not the kind of help I'm looking for."

"Okay, so if John isn't going to answer his damn phone, I guess that leaves Bobby Singer – who's probably serving time for multiple mass murders, an' I'm just stupid enough to interrupt him from yard time with Rocko and Curly."

Warily hitting the button, he listened as the phone rang a few times, and then a gruff-sounding man answered the phone. "Sam, where the hell have you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you for days now," Bobby said without any sort of greeting, making Drake believe that the man on the other end of the line must be some sort of crime lord, and Sam worked for him killing people.

"Umm . . . hi, this is . . . I'm Dr-Drake – a friend of Sam's." Drake cursed under his breath, hearing the tremor in his own voice. _I'm pretty sure mob bosses kill people for that kind of thing in the movies – this was so definitely a bad idea._

"A friend of Sam's?" There was the unmistakable sound of confusion in the older man's voice, making Drake wonder if Sam truly didn't have any friends at all which only added to his suspicions about his new friend. "Where is he – is he alright?" His tone turned to an almost fatherly concern, and Drake was forced to momentarily reconsider his first thoughts on both men.

"He's fine – I was just wondering how I could get a hold of his brother Dean?"

After a lengthy pause, Drake heard Bobby heave a sigh. "Look, I don't know what Sam's been telling you, but he doesn't have a brother."

"He doesn't have a brother," Drake numbly repeated, feeling as if someone had just stomped on his heart and shattered it to pieces. Sam had not only lied to him from the moment they had met, he'd also used Drake's own need to for his brother to further the bond he'd thought they were forging together. "Thanks, I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Wait," Bobby called out just as Drake was about to hang up the phone, and reluctantly he put the phone back to his ear.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"I was just – your voice sounds really familiar, an' seein' as you know Sam, I was wondering if we've met before . . . maybe from hunting?"

"Yeah, I hunt, but I doubt we've ever met before."

"You're sure about that?" Bobby pressed, not letting the matter go. "Cuz the more I hear your voice, I just get this feeling in my gut that we do know each other."

"Well, trust me when I say gut feelings about people don't amount to anything," Drake muttered as he looked back toward the motel room Sam was staying in. "Look, I've gotta go . . . I've got some things I've gotta take care of." Before the older man could try to stop him again, Drake hung up the phone.

As quietly as he could manage, Drake slipped back into the motel room, and placed Sam's cell phone and cars keys on the table between the two beds, and then turned back around to leave. At the door he paused, and took one last glance at the sleeping man, hoping he would wake up and explain everything to him, but when he didn't Drake walked away.

SNSNSNSNSN

Drake stood staring at the door to Bear's hospital room, wondering if he was making the right decision in telling him what he had learned about Sam – it somehow didn't feel right, but at the moment he wasn't trusting his feelings on anything in regards to Sam. With a deep breath, he forced a smile and pushed the door open, and walked inside.

"Hey there, brother man, you're looking as ugly as ever," he said as he made his way to Bear's hospital bed and took a seat on the edge of the mattress.

"Well, you look as if you've seen better days yourself, little man." Bear chuckled. "You come to bust me out of this place so we could go muddin' – so I can end up back in here when you run me over with Gary's truck?"

"That only happened once, an' I really didn't actually run you over – it was more like I paused when you slipped in the mud an' fell beneath the truck."

Running a hand through his thick dark hair, he laughed. "Oh yeah, I forgot the whole pausing thing that you made sure they added to the accident report."

"I had to have them add it cuz if there wasn't a pause, you'd definitely be a helluva lot flatter than you are now."

"True enough," Bear conceded, and with it, his smile died away. "You doing alright, Dray? Everyone tried calling you last night when Jasper . . . an' when your parents said you didn't come home – I just figured you needed some time alone to sort things through."

"Jasper died?" So wrapped up in Sam, Drake had allowed one of his best friends to die without ever getting to say his last goodbyes. But deep down he knew he couldn't blame the older man as it wasn't Sam's fault that he had chosen to get high instead of spending time with Jasper. "I didn't know – I was at the barn, an' I . . . ." his voice trailed off as he refused to lie to Bear.

"Yeah, I heard about your house, Dray, an' I'm really sorry I wasn't there . . . maybe I could've – "

"There was nothing you could've done if you were there," Drake said, cutting him off, "So don't worry about it."

With a heavy sigh, Bear pushed forward in his bed, shifted around and hung his long legs over the edge of the bed. "What's going on with you, Drake? Something's not right, an' it's more than just Jasper dying or that your house burned down – so if you're using again, I need to know."

His hand slipped to graze along the side of his jeans, and he cursed under his breath when he didn't feel anything in his pocket. "I'm not." As the lie slipped from his lips, Drake lowered his gaze. He'd been so busy trying to find out all he could about Sam's life, he hadn't even realized the older man had stolen his meth.

"Don't lie to me," Bear uttered with a disgusted shake of his head, "tell me it's none of my damn business or you'd rather not talk about it, but don't give me some bullshit lie cuz you're just not that good at it, little man."

"Alright," Drake gave a curt nod, "it's none of your damn business."

"You know I knew you'd say that." With another shake of his head, Bear let out a wry laugh. "I was hoping you'd tell me, but I really didn't need you to cuz Lowey stopped here – all bullshittin' about feelin' bad over Jasper . . . an' then he just happened to let it slip that he was looking for you cuz you owed him money – an' there's only one reason why you'd owe him anything."

Drake's heart sunk to the pit of his stomach as he heard the utter disappointment in Bear's voice and saw it clearly etched in his golden-brown eyes. "What'd you tell him?"

"He was going to go to your dad for the money, so I paid it."

"You shouldn't have."

"I know I shouldn't have." Gripping hold of Drake's shirt, Bear yanked him around, forcing him to look at him. "But I told him that if he ever thought to sell to you again, I'd bury him so deep they'd never be able to find his body."

"An' what'd he say to that?" Drake asked, not able to meet his friend's gaze as the last thing he wanted the bigger man to know was badly he wanted to find Lowey at the moment.

"The guy's a real worm, but he's definitely not stupid – he took the money and ran." Bear gripped hold of Drake's jaw and forced him to lift his head. "But make no mistake about it, Dray, you put peoples' lives at risk, an' someone gets hurt because of you, I will go to your dad an' get you fired from the department." Pulling his hand away from Drake's face, he raked his fingers through his hair as he let out a frustrated sigh. "Damn it, Drake, I really hate this cuz I love ya too much to see you doing this to yourself again, an' I know nothing I say or do is gonna make a damn bit of difference."

"Can we just talk about something else?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "I'm done preachin' like Father McCleary sermonizing about how yer soul's gonna be lost ta the devil if'in ya don't turn from yer wicked ways an' repent ta the Lord Almighty." Clapping Drake on the back, Bear let out a laugh at his poor attempt at impersonating their priest.

Drake laughed along with his friend, thankful that he had let the matter slide for the moment, but dreaded their future conversations about his problems. Bear never let something go once he had sunk his teeth into it, but he did know how to retreat when he'd pushed too far, and that was one of the things Drake had always liked most about him.

"Bear, can I show you something, an' have you swear you'll never tell anyone about it?"

"Dude, the last time you asked me that I ended up looking at the tiny birthmark on your upper inner thigh cuz you swore it was cancerous, an' it's not something I ever wanna look at again, an' definitely not something I'll ever admit to seeing even in a court of law."

"Give me a break, man, I was like eight at the time, an' my grandmother had just died of skin cancer, so I was a little bit freaked."

"More than a little freaked, I'd say." Bear chuckled heartily as he waved his hand around his face in a circular motion. "As I recall you smeared two whole tubes of sunscreen all over your face and body an' then wore this big floppy hat that I swear belonged to your mother." As a flush of heat spread across Drake's cheeks at the memory, his friend laughed all the harder. "What was that nickname your brother gave you?"

With a groan, Drake murmured, "Chuckles the Pasty-faced Clown."

"Yep, that was it – God, that still kills me."

"Are you just about done laughing cuz I really need to show you something?" Drake grimaced as he touched his fingertips to where the scar had been on his chest, waiting until Bear laughter faded to a smile, and then unbuttoned the first two buttons of Sam's flannel, and pulled back the fabric.

Brows pulling together, Bears' eyes narrowed on Drake's chest. "Dude, where's your scar?"

"It's gone." Drake shrugged.

"I see that it's gone – why is it gone?"

"I dunno, but they're all gone – every single scar I ever had just disappeared."

"The one on your hand from the – " Drake lifted his hand, and turned it back and forth. "How about the one on your elbow from the time we – " Pushing back his sleeve, Drake revealed an scar-free elbow. "Yeah, but the one on your head from the sled thing – " Drake ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from where the thin silvery scar had been on his forehead. "How about the one on your right cheek from the metal fence incident?"

"I really haven't checked that one out, but I'm pretty damn sure it's gone, too."

"That . . . that's like freakin' Twilight Zone weird . . . were you abducted by aliens or something?"

"I hadn't actually considered that as a possibility." Drake smirked as Bear scratched at his stubbled chin while staring at him in awe. "But I think it has something to do with this." Pulling Sam's journal out of the back of his waistband, he handed it to Bear. "I got it from that guy Sam's car. An I also got this," he yanked the fake FBI badge out of his pocket and showed it to his friend, "he's got a bunch of them – an' fake credit cards, too."

As Bear leafed through the journal his expression became more and more perplexed. "This is some crazy-assed shit – lunar cycles . . . cutting off the heads of vampires, and dosing them with dead man's blood to weaken them . . . where the hell would a person even go to find dead man's blood?" he asked, looking wide-eyed at Drake.

"You're looking at me like I'd have some sort of freakin' clue." Drake shrugged. "Hell, I was lost on the whole Wendigo thing."

"Wendigo?"

"Yeah, supposedly it's this thing that runs real fast an' kills people to eat them."

"Huh, sounds like your friend Sam's a real freak."

"You don't even know the half of it," Drake uttered, nodding his head in full agreement, "you should've seen the arsenal he had in the trunk of his car – I seriously think he could be some sort of deranged Satan worshipping psycho killer."

"Did you give him a chance to explain?" he asked as he continued to flip through the pages of the journal. "Like for instance, you could've asked him what answers he found in Missouri . . . that might make for an interesting conversation." Biting at his lower lip, Bear tried to stifle his snicker, but couldn't hide his grin of amusement.

"No, I didn't give him a chance to explain anything – he would've just lied, and after everything I've seen, how could I even begin to trust him?"

"I dunno . . . but what I do know is that he saved my life – an' yours as well, so I'm pretty sure that rules him out as a deranged Satan worshipping psycho killer."

"Even if he isn't, I don't want to know what he really is." With a shake of his head, Drake pushed himself to his feet, and headed to the window. Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, he mulled over all the bad things that had happened in his life since Sam had arrived in town. "I just wish he'd leave so things could go back to the way they were before."

"Little man, I've known you since the first day of kindergarten, which means I'm pretty confident in saying that's really the last thing you want to happen – so go back to wherever he's staying, confront him with everything you know, and see what he has to say."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Startled awake at the sensation of being watched, Sam grabbed for the knife he'd placed beneath his pillow, and abruptly pushed himself upward and back against the headboard as he spied a withered old man sitting on the edge of his bed. His eyes were like the reflective glass of a mirror, but instead of seeing the image of himself on the bed, he saw glimpses of all his worst failures and greatest accomplishments, and he took comfort in them as in the man's eyes Dean was there to share them with him.

"Put the knife away, Sammy," he uttered in a soft timbre, and without hesitation Sam did as he asked. "I thought it was high time that we should meet."

"Death," Sam murmured as he unconsciously shifted a little closer to the skeletal man.

"Ahhh . . . yes, my name precedes me." He chuckled lightly as he lifted a bony arm and gently trailed sharpened nails down Sam's cheek. "You have wished for me a lot lately, but have found that I have forsaken you as have all the others."

"Then what are you doing here now?"

"I'm here to collect the souls of the dying – that's my job. I play no favorites," he lifted both his hands, splaying out his long fingers, "I'm bound by no ring like my brothers are – or were as the case may be." He smiled, paper thin skin stretching taut across his protruding cheek bones. "I guess I should congratulate you on killing my brother Famine – a shining moment in a bleak history." As he spoke of Sam destroying Famine after the Horseman had swallowed the souls of all the demons Sam had killed, the scene played out like a movie in his reflective eyes. "I do find it rather odd that he should die from the same thing he was sent to spread – almost like divine justice . . . wouldn't you say?"

A faint smile ghosted across Sam's lips as he had never stopped to consider it that way before, but as Death had pointed out Famine's own hunger for souls was the thing that had led to his death.

"Did you know that even Lucifer fears Death?" he went on to say without waiting for Sam to respond. "So I guess that would make me the second most powerful entity in all existence."

"Who would be the first?" Sam asked, pushing himself forward to be closer to Death, hoping that it would take him.

"That would be God, Sam."

"The angels don't believe he exists any longer."

"The angels are wrong – but not all of them think that way, do they?" Laying a gnarled hand across Sam's hand, he further added, "I don't believe Castiel would agree with them."

"I don't care what Cas thinks."

"No, I don't suppose you would as he did allow your brother to die." Mirrored eyes locking on Sam, Death stretched out an arm, and gently placed it on his shoulder. "You're so weary, Sam," he spoke softly, the words wrapping around Sam like the warmest of blankets, and laying flat his hand a long curved blade appeared in it. "Take the knife, Sam – I can show you the way in which to find your brother once more if you'll follow me."

Staring Death in the eyes, Sam willingly took hold of the knife. "That's it, Sammy," he spoke again, but this time his voice and face were Dean's, "cut deeply and let the sadness pour from you."

"Dean," Sam breathed, scarcely feeling the cool blade as he pressed it against his wrist and sliced deeply into his veins.

"You can see him now, can't you, Sam?"

"Mm'hmm."

"He's calling to you – he wants you with him . . . an' all it'll take is one more little cut then you can be at rest with Dean at your side." Eye still locked on his, Sam weakly took hold of the knife in his bloodied hand and pressed it against his other wrist. "That's it, Sammy, follow Dean – it's what you really want to do."

"D-Dean . . . ."


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for reading and for all the really great comments. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twelve_

Drake couldn't believe that Bear had somehow managed to talk him into going back to confront Sam. Even if Sam could explain away the stuff Drake had found in his car, there was no way in hell he could ever begin to make him understand why he had lied about Dean. But as he parked his motorcycle beside the Impala, a thought occurred to him, and his fingertips grazed along the edges of the leather strip around his neck. The man in the rumpled trench coat had said the necklace had belonged to Dean, and if he wanted to find him, he would need it – so there had to be a Dean, unless both men were playing with him.

With a hasty knock to announce his arrival, Drake barged into Sam's motel room, and stopped dead in his tracks. "Sam! What the hell are you doing?" the words tumbled from his lips as he stared wide-eyed at the man dragging a knife along his wrist while crying out to Dean. "Sammy, don't!" he shouted as in horror he watched him take the blade in his left hand to cut into his other wrist.

Hazel eyes glazed with such intense pain, Sam stared unblinking, unseeing off to the left and nodded slightly as if responding to some unheard whisperings. Drake's stomach lurched, understanding dawning on him that Sam didn't even know he was there nor did he even seem to realize his wrist was bleeding profusely, blood snaking down his fingertips to splatter on the white sheets.

"Sam, don't do this," he pleaded as he hastily closed the gap between them, "I'm begging you not to do this to me," he held out a quivering hand, "please just give me the knife."

"D-Dean," Sam cried out again, tears slipping down his cheeks, and there was such bitter anguish in his trembling voice, it laid to rest any doubts Drake had that Sam had been lying about his brother.

"Dean wouldn't want you to do this, Sam." Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam hesitated with the bloody knife pressed firmly to his skin, and seizing the opportunity Drake gripped hold of his arm and yanked it backward. "Drop the damn knife, you stupid son of a bitch!" he shouted, pressing his thumb down hard into the back of Sam's hand, and exerting pressure until the older man's fingers uncurled and the blade slipped from his grasp.

The knife fell to the bed, and before Sam had a chance to grab for it, Drake snatched it up, pivoted on his heel, and threw it across the room, the tip of the blade burying deep into the wall.

"Wh-where is he?" Sam breathed, prying his eyes open, and searching the room in desperation.

Heart hammering away inside his chest, Drake glared at the bleeding man. "Who? Dean? Dean's not here, Sam – I am. But I'm pretty damn sure if he was, he'd be just as furious with how stupid and selfish you are."

"Dr-Drake, ya gotta get out of here," he uttered breathlessly, cradling his bleeding wrists tight to his chest.

"Why so you can finish the job? No fucking way!"

"No . . . Death," licking at his lips, Sam pressed his eyes shut and shook his head, "h-here . . . please, ya g-gotta leave."

"You need to go to the hospital, Sam, so I'll be damned if I'm leaving here without you." Hurrying into the bathroom, Drake grabbed several clean towels, and rushed back to Sam.

"Let me see your wrists," he ordered, and when Sam failed to do as he commanded, he growled, "let me see your goddamn wrists. Now!"

Sam's eyes widened fearfully as Drake grasped hold of his forearm, and yanked it forward. "C-can't ya s-see 'im . . . he's right there."

"Dean's not here, Sam, now hold still so I can wrap your freakin' wrists." Drake hastily examined both wrists as Sam struggled to break free of his hold. Luckily the cut to Sam's right wrist was only superficial, and more than likely wouldn't even need stitches, but as he looked at the left, Drake cursed under his breath when he saw how deeply Sam had cut into it. "Listen to me, Sam, you cut the radial artery, so you need to stop fighting me, an' let me do my damn job."

"Not Dean – Y-you're De – Jus' go before it sees you!" Lifting a leg, Sam kicked out at Drake catching him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the other bed.

Gasping for breath, Drake dragged himself up off the bed; stalked back to Sam, cocked back an arm, and punched him squarely in the face. Neck snapping backward, Sam fell back on to the bed, and Drake leapt onto his chest, pinning him there. "You think you're the first combative asshole I've ever had to deal with in my job, Sammy . . . well, you're not, but you are the first person I've ever hauled off and slugged, so congratulations to you for that."

"Ge' off me, Drake," Sam hissed, bucking and squirming as he kept his sights squarely on Death.

"No one's here but us," Death softly uttered, eyes never wavering from Sam's, and Sam suddenly realized that as long as their gazes were locked on each other, the creature could see nothing else. "They lied to you, Sam – Drake's not your brother . . . you know that. Follow me, Sammy . . . your brother's waiting for you."

"Sammy, if you don't hold still, I swear to God, I'm gonna belt you so freakin' hard, you'll be out cold for a week," Drake growled as he vainly tried to wrap a towel around Sam's left wrist. He, too, was unaware of anyone else's presence in the motel room, and no matter how hard Sam tried to push him away and force him to leave; he wouldn't go – just as Dean never would have gone.

"No . . . ." Sam bucked sideways as Drake momentarily shifted and nearly blocked his view of Death, knocking the younger man off of him.

"You're afraid – I understand." Death reached out and gripped hold if his right hand as Drake took hold of his left arm, and the dark angel dug sharpened nails into his wrist, clawing into his flesh.

"Dr-Drake . . . please," against his will, Sam's eyes pressed shut as Death sliced through his flesh, but unwilling to let him see Drake, he forced them back open. "He'll see you if you don't go . . . please, jus' get the hell out of here."

"There's no one – Oh, shit, Sam!" Releasing his hold on Sam's arm, Drake's jaw dropped open as he gaped at Sam's right wrist, leaking blood all over the bed. "What the hell did you do to yourself?"

Hearing the fear in Drake's voice, Sam's gaze was immediately drawn to his brother, and realizing his mistake a moment too late, he shifted back to look at Death – but the angel's eyes were no longer focused on him anymore.

Death smiled, locking mirrored orbs on Drake. "You must be Drake."

"Drake! Don't look him in the eyes," he shouted, although it was already too late.

With Sam left bleeding and forgotten Death shifted to place a bony hand on Drake's shoulder. "I've missed you, lil' man."

"J-Jake," Drake murmured breathlessly, reaching out a trembling hand to Death, and lightly caressed the withered creature's cheek. "I knew you'd come back."

Frantically Sam groped the edges of the mattress until his fingertips landed upon the knife he had dropped when Death had told him to put it down earlier, pulled it into his grasp, and tightened his hand around it. "Drake, duck!" he ordered, swinging the blade around, narrowly missing the younger man as Drake weaved and rolled off the bed, and with as much force as Sam could manage, slammed the tip of the blade into one of Death's reflective eyes.

With an ear piercing scream every reflective glass object in the room shattered as Death reeled backward clutching a hold of his face. With another scream Death vanished in a burst of brilliant light and heated flames as jagged shards blew inward toward the two men. As glass flew in their direction and fire quickly spread to blankets of Sam's bed, he ducked and rolled off the bed, gripped hold of Drake and pushed him to the ground, covering him as glass sliced and tore through his back.

"Lemme go, Sam," Drake cried out, squirming beneath Sam's weight, "Jake needs me."

"You stupid jerk," Sam hissed against his ear, "I'm your – " biting down hard on his lower lip, Sam fought the urge to tell him the truth, "stay down! I'm gonna get the keys to the Impala, an' then we're outta here. Got me?"

With a curt nod from Drake, Sam slowly eased off his little brother, and shifted around to grab the keys off the bedside table. Weakly clutching hold of the keys, they slipped through his grasp and fell to the floor. As he bent to snatch them up, the room suddenly shifted off kilter, and Sam's eyes rolled backward as he fought back the bile rising in his throat. Blinking hard against the fuzziness filtering his vision, beckoning him toward peaceful darkness, he fumbled for the keys, but his fingers refused to seize hold of them.

"C-can't do it, Dr-Drake . . . h-help me . . . ."

Instantly at his side, Drake grabbed the keys, Sam's cell phone, and then hooking an arm around his back, he hauled him to his feet. "I gotcha, Sammy," he shouted above the roar of flames now licking greedily at the floor and ceiling. "Jus' stay with me, okay."

Coughing hard against the thick black smoke clogging his lungs, Sam rasped, "N-no' goin' anywhere, lil' br-brother."

The sound of fire alarms filled the air as Drake dragged Sam from the room, pushed past terrified patrons of the establishment, and headed to the Impala. "You still with me, Sam?" he asked concernedly as he gently eased the bigger man into the passenger's seat and buckled his seatbelt.

"Mmm'hmmm," Sam breathed, eyes squeezed shut as he clutched bloodied hands to his chest.

"Sammy, I'm gonna get you to the hospital, but you have to stay awake for me," Drake ordered, gripping a hold of Sam's jaw, "so open your eyes."

"M't-tired, D-Dean." Even as he breathed the words, his eyelids fluttered open.

"I know you are, but I need you to stay with me." Ripping off his flannel shirt, Drake tore it in two, folded the pieces and wrapped them securely around Sam's wrists. As he worked to cover the wounds, he watched the rise and fall of Sam's chest, and made a mental note of his respirations, and then pressing two fingers to the side of his throat, checked his pulse.

"Sonuvabitch," he cursed under his breath, fearing he wouldn't make it to the hospital in time even though he knew it took a helluva lot longer for someone to bleed to death from slitting their wrists than depicted in movies.

Drake rushed around to the driver's side, slid behind the wheel, and was out of the parking lot in a matter of seconds. "You still with me, Sam?" he asked, casting a sideways glance at the older man, and saw him give a weak nod as he flipped open Sam's cell phone, found Bobby's number, and jabbed the button.

With a matter of three rings, Bobby answered the phone, and before the older man could utter anything more than Sam's name, Drake cut him off. "Bobby, this is Drake – Sam needs you . . . he needs family, so I don't care whatever the hell you're doing, you drop it an' to get your ass to the FF Thompson Hospital in Canandaigua as fast as you can."


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks for reading and for all the awesome comments for my story, keep 'em coming they mean the world to me!! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Thirteen_

"Bobby's on his way," Drake said as he flipped the phone shut, placed it on the seat, and then gently shook the older man. "Did you hear me, Sammy?"

"Shouldna called h-him," Sam stammered, head lolling forward as he drew in a staggering breath. "'Sss a long way . . . H-he was injured on a hunt . . . in a wh-wheelchair."

"A hunt?" Drake's raked his fingers through his hair as he glanced down at the speedometer, noted that he was already going twenty miles over the speed limit, and pressed down harder on the gas pedal. "What exactly do you and Bobby hunt, Sam – deer? Rabbit – bigger game? Maybe you hunt things that run really fast . . . an' prey on people?"

"We hunt wh-whatever needs to be hunted," he muttered in a breathless whisper, neither confirming nor denying the things Drake had read about in his journal.

"Do you ever hunt in Missouri?" Mentally calculating the miles to the hospital, Drake reached across the seat, pressed two fingers against the side of Sam's throat, noted the clamminess of his pale skin, and also his rapid pulse, and cursed under his breath. "I once read that a person can find the answers they're searching for in Missouri . . . so I was thinking of going there to find out for myself – you think I might find any answers there, Sammy?"

"'Sss n-not worth the gas it'd t-take ta get there." Eyelids fluttering closed, Sam's head dropped limply to the side then rolled back to rest against the headrest.

"So you didn't find the answers you were looking for there?" Drake lifted a brow in confusion as he carefully pressed his thumbnail into Sam's nail, and watched the sluggish capillary refill. "Stay with me, Sammy," he uttered, taking hold of Sam's hand, and gently squeezed it to assure the older man wasn't alone.

"Hmmm . . . no' a place – a person . . . th-tha's where h-he found the answers."

"Missouri's a person?" Drake cast a glance in Sam's direction, saw him nod and then returned his sights to the road. "What answers did he find?"

"It k-killed our m-mom an' dad."

Gut twisting in knots, Drake tightened his grip around Sam's hand and the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

"'Ssss not y-yer fault, D-Dean."

Rubbing away the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes, Drake opened his mouth to tell Sam he wasn't his brother, but with a shake of his head, snapped it shut. "You know when we were back at your motel room I could've sworn I saw my brother there . . . his eyes were the same bluish-green, same military issue haircut . . . an' that damn woodsy cologne he loved to wear . . . ." His voice died away as Sam cried out, and seeing blood leaking through the cloth bandage, Drake let go of his hand, wrapped his fingers around his wrist, applied direct pressure, and raised his arm. "I know you're tired, Sam, but you've gotta keep your wrists elevated to slow the bleeding."

"Mm'okay," he murmured, grimacing and biting down hard on his lower lip to stifle another cry.

"An' by okay I'm taking it to mean you're really scared out of your freakin' mind but are tryin' to act like this is just another day for you . . . does that sound about right?" Drake drew in a shaky breath as he glanced at his watch, determined how long they had been driving, and then looked back to Sam. "I've been there, Sammy, so I know what it's like. They get you in there, fix ya all up as good as new – but you're screwed cuz new for you means that you were already broken to begin with but hid it behind a smile – then they watch ya certain you're gonna try something again. And everyone wants to tell you things will get better, an' ya gotta stop feeling like the bottom's gonna cave cuz that goes against the whole sunshine and puppy dog outlook on life they think you should have."

With a heavy sigh, he went on to say, "But Bear, he put it best when he told me life's like a box of chocolates that were left out in the sun an' melted into one huge gloppy mess then were rained on – the box somehow managed to get torn away and everything all got mashed together, but if ya take the time to pick through the mess it's still a box of chocolates, an' since everyone loves chocolate, it's all good – I guess I always took that to mean that everyone's messed up in their own way, an' you'd never even know it unless their walls were torn away. So in other words, no matter how fucked up you think things are in your life, you really don't wanna die, Sam."

Struggling to keep his eyes open, Sam rolled his head to the side to look at Drake, and gave a slight shake of his head. "Mmm'not afraid ta die."

"Which means you're afraid to live, an' that makes you an even bigger coward – dying's the easy part of life . . . hell, even stupid people can manage to get themselves killed."

"M'not a coward."

"Right, cuz taking a knife to your wrists when things get hard is the brave thing to do."

"Would it have been better if I'd drowned m-myself in alcohol and meth then followed it up with a good game of Russian roulette? Then I c-could jus' tell everyone it was bad judgment on my part, an' go back ta my h-happy lil' life."

"I'm not gonna apologize to you because I have a good life, Sammy – I've worked hard for it, an' whether you think so or not, I deserve to be happy."

"Then why aren't you?" Sam narrowed pain-laden hazel eyes on him and with stomach clenching and mouth going suddenly dry, Drake struggled to find the words to refute his accusation.

"I dunno," he replied after a long pause, and then shrugged, "I guess it's cuz I sometimes feel as if this isn't the life I was meant to live, an' I'm always waiting for someone to come along to make sense of what I feel inside . . . but I think most people feel that way, wishing that maybe they were famous or had some real great purpose in life."

"Tha's wh-why mm'here."A faint smile crept across Sam's tense, pale features, but was quickly overshadowed by a grimace.

Unsure of how to respond to Sam, and more than just a little freaked out by his words, Drake shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Luckily, however, at that moment he spotted the first of several blue signs pointing the direction to the hospital, and breathed a sigh of relief. "We're almost there, Sammy."

Drake fell silent as he drove the rest of the way to the hospital, mulling over what to say to the hospital personal when they asked about Sam. The very last thing he wanted to put the older man through was the probing questions that seemed more like accusations as to why he thought he had no other choice but to try and commit suicide. But with one glance at Sam's wrists, they would make their own determinations, and no matter what Drake might say to the contrary no one would listen to him.

In truth, anything he did say would be more damning than helpful. What else could he say when he had witnessed Sam slicing through his wrist with a knife? And even if he thought to mention one of Sam's wrists only had a superficial cut that had ripped wide open all on its own or the fire that erupted out of nowhere – or Jake, he would find himself in a padded room right alongside Sam.

"Listen, Sammy," he said as he pulled up the emergency entrance, "I know this is going to be hard, but they're gonna consider you a serious risk which means they're not going to leave you alone for a minute – an' I'm gonna tell you right now that it really sucks . . . it sucks so damn bad . . . ." his voice trailed off remembering how someone had to watch him as he took a shower or went to the bathroom as if he might flush his head down the toilet if left by himself. "But just do what they say cuz it's a helluva lot worse when they lock you up for observation – trust me on that."

Mm'no' sss'stayin'," Sam uttered, taking short panted breaths as his eyelids fluttered and closed.

"They won't give you the choice – you try to leave, they lock you up." With a deep sigh, Drake got out of the car and hurried around to the passenger's side to help Sam. "They're not going to let me come in with you, but I promise I won't leave," he vowed as he hauled the injured man to his feet, hooked an arm around his waist, and cursed under his breath when he felt blood soaking through the back of Sam's shirt. "When you're better, I'm gonna ask you what happened in your room and I want the truth, Sammy. Understand?"

"N-no, you don't," Sam breathed, stumbling over his own feet, and if it hadn't been for Drake grabbing a tighter hold of him, he would have face planted into the ground.

Although he had no intention of letting the matter go, Drake pushed it aside for the time being as he half-dragged the bigger man through the emergency room doors. "I need help," he shouted, and within a matter of moments someone had rushed a gurney over to them, and helped Sam onto it.

Feeling utterly helpless and useless, Drake backed out of the way as a middle-aged doctor dictated orders to several nurses as they pushed the gurney through a set of double doors, leaving him alone with an older nurse. "I'm going to need some information about the patient," she said, handing him a clipboard with papers to fill out and then guided him to the waiting area. "When you're finished you can bring them over to the reception desk."

Drake glanced down at the papers, skimming them quickly before looking back up at her. "H-his name's Sam Winchester . . . that's about all I know about him," he uttered, gut twisting as he handed the clipboard back to her. Gripping a tight hold of the leather necklace that had belonged to Dean, he added, "He does have a brother named Dean, but I don't know how to get a hold of him."

"Alright," she gave a nod, "I'll see if I can get a contact number for him."

"Wait," he grabbed hold of her arm as she turned to walk back to the reception desk, "make sure he knows I'm here – tell him I'm not going to leave . . . he needs to know that. Okay?"

With another nod, she smiled at him as she gently patted his hand. "I'll tell him."

"An' if he needs blood . . . where can I go to donate blood for him?"

"You'd have to be the right blood type, son," she said, gesturing down the long wide corridor, "but we can always use blood, so if you go down this hallway and take your second left, and then follow the signs you should be able to find the blood bank."

"I'm O negative, I can donate to anyone . . . an' I want to donate to him."

Her brows pulled together as she studied him for a moment, and then with a curl of her finger she gestured for him to follow her. "I'm going to need some information to see if you are a good candidate for donating blood," she said as she led him into a small curtained room, and pointed to a chair for him to sit down. "Do you have HIV or Hepatitis?" she asked as she reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of medical gloves.

"No," he responded as he took a seat.

"Have you been sick within the last forty-eight hours or have you used cocaine or injected any other drugs within the past year?"

"I ummm . . . ." Drake swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut as he went on to lie, "I-I'm just getting over being sick."

A sympathetic look crossing her features and filling her grayish-blue eyes, she gave a shake of her head. "I know you want to help your friend, but unfortunately we won't be able to use your blood."

"Even if I swear he won't get sick because of me?" Drake pleaded, heart clenching painfully knowing it was his own fault that he couldn't help Sam. "I promise he won't get sick because of me."

"I'm sorry, but I have to follow protocol."

"There has to be some way . . . I have to do something – he has to know that I . . . please let me help him."

"He'll need a good support system as he tries to get better, so just be there when he needs it."

"He won't let me." With a growl of frustration, Drake raked his fingers through his hair. "Thanks anyways." Pushing himself to his feet, Drake trudged from the room, headed back out to the waiting room, and set to pacing as he waited to hear word of Sam's condition.

Every time the guarded double doors to the Emergency Room swung open and a doctor exited through them, Drake looked up hopefully, but they always went to someone else waiting for word of their loved ones. The hours dragged one after the other, and Drake could have sworn he was wearing a path through the rug. _He was bleeding really bad . . . what if I didn't get him here in time?_ He glanced back at the doors as they swung open again and heaved a groan when he saw a woman exiting with a little girl sporting a cast on her arm. _I should have heard something by now. What if the nurse didn't tell them I'm waiting . . . what if Sam doesn't know I'm here._

Crossing the room, Drake stopped at the reception desk and tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter until a pretty young brunette glanced up at him. "Can I help you?"

"I've been waiting to hear any news about my friend Sam Winchester for a real long time now," his voice rose significantly as he heard another doctor come out of the ER to call out to another patient's family, and slamming his fist down on the counter, he went on to add, "so someone needs to get their ass back there, find out how he's doing, an' tell me before I bust down the damn doors to find out for myself."

"Sir, you need to calm down." Briefly eyeing the security guard, she then glanced down at the list of patients before looking back up at Drake. "I'll have someone go and check on him, but you need to take a seat, and wait."

"For how long?" Drake glanced back over his shoulder at the security guard, narrowing his eyes on him. "Cuz I have been waiting . . . an' waiting – an' waiting, while everyone else seems to have all the good doctors who actually stop to think that a family might want to know how their loved ones are doing – I wanna know how my – how Sam is doing, an' I wanna know NOW!"

As she kept her sights on Drake, her hand slipped to the security call button. "I said I would find out for you, sir, but if you don't calm down right now, I'm going to call security and have them escort you from the building."

Clenching his hands, Drake forced a smile. He had promised Sam he wouldn't leave, and even if it took every last ounce of restraint he possessed, he would do as she had asked. "Just find out for me, okay?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything," she responded with a tight-lipped smile.

Without another word he stalked back to his spot and returned to pacing.

"Hey, Marlowe," a familiar voice called out to him, and Drake inwardly cringed as he turned to see Lowey step off the elevator and head in his direction. "You fire boys sure are spending a helluva lot of time in hospitals lately." He chuckled good-naturedly as he pushed a hand through his dark wavy hair. "So who got hurt this time?"

"None of your damn business," Drake snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets, fearing if he didn't he would slug the smugness off the taller man's face. "Why are you here?"

"I was visiting my grandma." With a lift of his brow, his uncommonly dark eyes seemed to darken even more as his grin widened. "You're looking a little on edge, Drake . . . I could fix that for ya."

"I don't need you to fix anything for me." Biting at his lower lip, Drake slowly breathed in and out through his nose as he fought the overwhelming tremor of need that rushed through him like a firestorm.

Lowey laughed as he reached in his pocket and slid out the top of a clear baggie so Drake could see it. "Sure you do, Drake, you're a junkie . . . junkie's always need to be fixed."

Eyes transfixed on the baggie, Drake felt himself begin to tremble, and hastily turned his head away to look back at the doors to the emergency room. "I'm not . . . I quit, so just go."

"You quit? I sincerely doubt that." Lowey let out a laugh so loud nearly everyone in the room turned to stare at them, and against his better judgment, Drake grabbed hold of his arm, and dragged him outside of the building.

"I want you to leave," letting go of the older man's arm, he pushed him toward the parking lot, "an' don't you ever come looking for me again."

Lowey swung back around, pulled the bag of white powder out of his pocket, and holding it up so Drake could see it better, he shook the baggie. "That probably would've been more convincing if I hadn't felt you trembling, Drake." Pressing the bag into Drake's hand, he grinned as he backed away. "So here's the real test of your new resolve to be drug-free, little man," he held out his hand, "give it back to me an' I'll walk away or keep it, an' do what you really wanna do."

Drake stared long and hard at the cocaine, praying for all he was worth that he could hand it to Lowey and walk back inside to be with Sam, but squeezing his eyes shut, his grip tightened around the plastic container. "I'll pay ya later," he muttered brokenly, and with tears filling his eyes, he hung his head low as he pushed past Lowey and lumbered to the Impala.

"Enjoy yourself," Lowey called out to him and Drake quivered as he heard him laugh again.

With a broken sob, Drake climbed inside the car, drove it to the furthest corner of the lot and parked. Hands trembling, he pulled open the glove compartment, grabbed out the box of fake ids, and rummaged around until he found a pen. Tears slipped down his cheeks and brushing away with the back of his hand, he pried open the bag and pour some of the powder onto the top of the box. Using a car key, he divided the cocaine into four thin rails. He then broke off both ends of the pen, hollowing it out.

Vision blurring, he stared at the stark white lines against the creamy colored box. "Jake, please help me," he cried out, clutching hold of the broken pen with trembling fingers, "I can't do this on my own . . . I'm not strong enough – I never w-was . . . ." his voice broke off on a sob, and as he waited and prayed that his brother would come back to him, his mind filled with thoughts of Sam, and the promised he had made not to leave him alone. "I'm sorry, Sammy – God, I'm so damn sorry."

Swallowing hard against the painful lump in his throat, he lowered his head, brought the pen up to one his nostrils as he pressed the other closed with his fingertip, and breathed in sharply through the hollowed out pen. With a swipe of his hand across his nose, he went down the second line, followed by the third and forth. Eyes pressed closed, Drake leaned his head back against the headrest, waiting to lose himself within the high.

"What the hell are you doing, Drake?" came a voice off to his right that sounded almost exactly like his own, and startled he jumped. His eyes flew open, and shuffling in his seat, he gaped at an older version of himself. "Sammy needs you, an' you were so damn close . . . then you just gave in."

Drake blinked hard, certain he was hallucinating, but when he reopened his eyes, the scruffy-haired, older him was still there. "Wh-who are you?"

Narrowing his eyes, the man scratched at the back of his head and then shrugged. "I guess I'm you . . . or sort of anyways – not sure how this all works, so I can't really say for certain – I'll have to ask Cas about it."

"I'm hallucinating, aren't I?" He looked to himself for confirmation, and groaned at how crazy he would look if someone happened to be walking by at the moment. "I am, and now I'm asking myself who's sitting beside me if I'm hallucinating . . . damn, I'm so screwed."

The other him chuckled lightly, and his eyes lit with such inner peace and warmth Drake momentarily forgot that he was definitely on the verge of a mental breakdown and grinned. As his laughter died away, wistful sadness filled his pale green eyes. "I need you to take care of Sammy for me, an' you can't do that if you're always stoned off your ass."

"Am I ever going to find out what happened to Dean?" he asked, although he really didn't expect an answer from his imaginary self.

"Deep down, you already know what happened to him." With a frustrated sigh, he rubbed at his jaw. "It'll come to you in time . . . or maybe Sammy will tell you if he ever gets his head out of his ass, and comes clean with everything."

"Why can't you just tell me?"

"I wish to hell I could, but I can't." Running his hand appreciatively across the dashboard of the Impala, he smiled as he quickly changed the subject. "God, I always loved this car, so you'd better make damn sure Sammy takes care of her."

"Is he Jake?" Drake looked hopefully to his older self as he prayed with all his heart that his answer would be yes.

"No," he shook his head, "they wanted you broken so Jake never stood a chance – the bastards stacked the deck against him. Course it all looks good on paper – no one's gonna question someone getting blown to pieces on a scouting mission for hidden bombs, are they?"

Even if it was only a cocaine induced delusion he was having, Drake's heart still plummeted to the pit of his stomach. "S-Someone killed my brother?"

"You'll have to ask Castiel about the details, I only know what Michael told me."

"I-I don't know who Castiel is." Feeling himself begin to drift, Drake's eyes fluttered as he fought uselessly against the oncoming cocaine high.

"You will." As he began to fade from sight, he lifted a hand, reached out and grasped hold of the leather strap around Drake's neck. "I want you to take good care of this, it meant so much to me – and take care of Sammy, he means everything to me – make sure he knows that."


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry for the delay, I've been on vacation with my hubby so no chance to really post a new chapter. Hope everyone enjoys!! Thanks for all the great reviews, they are awesome to get!! Hugs, Ember!!

_Chapter Fourteen_

As the effects of the cocaine took hold, Drake felt a sudden burst of energy and euphoria spread through him, and he pushed back the strange hallucination to the furthest niches of his mind.

Of all the feelings in the world, this one was the best – this one told him he could do anything he wanted to and nothing was out of his reach. If he wanted to see Sam right now, then he damn well would see him.

"Who do those dumb fucks think they are telling me I have to wait to see him?" He mused aloud as he flung open the car door, and practically leapt from the vehicle. "I'm the one who kept his ass alive all the way here – if anyone should be in there taking care of him it should be me."

Setting out at a dead run, he made it back to the hospital entrance in what he was certain would be an all-state record time if he was still running track at school, and slowing to determined strides, made for the locked doors to the ER area. "Open the damn door, Sparky, I'm going to see my friend now."

"Sir, you're not allowed back there without a pass," Sparky said, resting a hand on his billy club as he bobbed his head toward the seats lining the wall. "So go take a seat until someone comes out to speak with you about your friend."

"Is that what they teach you to say in rent-a-cop school, Sparky?" Pursing his lips, Drake rested his elbows on the small podium in front of the fair-haired man, and leaned in closer. "They don't even trust you with a gun, so who the hell do you think you're kidding . . . not me. If I wanna go back there, I'll damn well go back there."

"Look, sir," the officer rose to stand, and stepped around the podium, "I'm going to give you one more chance to take a seat, an' if you don't choose to listen then I'm going to have you hauled out of here."

"Are you going to have a real officer do it?" Drake took a step forward, coming to stand toe to toe with the larger man, and folded his arms across his chest. "Or are you going to call in more wannabe cops like yourself to handle the job? If so I'd really reconsider it if I were you cuz this country boy knows how to kick some serious ass when I need to."

"That's it you're out of here." Gripping hold of Drake's arm, Sparky tried to drag him toward the door, but standing his ground, Drake roughly shirked free of his grasp.

"You touch me again, an' I swear to God I'll knock you through the freakin' wall," Drake snarled, hands curling into tight fists as the burly man advanced on him again, but before the man had the chance to lay another finger on him, he gripped hold of him, swung him around and threw him up against the wall. "I wasn't lying, you stupid sonuvabitch," he added as he drew back a fist to slam into the man's pockmarked face. Just as he swung his arm forward, two people grabbed him from behind, and yanked him away from the officer.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bear hissed against Drake's ear as he dragged him backward toward the door.

"I'm sorry, officer," Gary said apologetically, turning to look at Drake only long enough to shake his head, and then returned his attention to the guard, "My friend just lost one of his best friends to that fire we had over in Prattsburgh a few days ago, and then his house burnt to the ground, so he's not really thinking straight at the moment."

"Lemme go, Bear, I don't need him making excuses for me," Drake growled as he struggled to break free of his friend's steely grip.

"Just keep your trap shut before you find yourself locked in jail, making your one phone call to your dad to try and explain whatever crap drug they find in your system."

"I didn't take anything."

"Oh, that's right I just forgot that you're Captain Invincible threatening to throw some poor guy through the wall because he wouldn't let you go into the ER – that's not the Drake I know . . . and it's definitely not the Drake I wanna know."

"How long were you watching?" Drake uttered, momentarily losing the will to fight against his friend as he dragged him out of the building.

"Long enough." None too lightly, Bear swung Drake around, and gripped hold of his jaw, forcing him to tilt his chin so he could look him in the eye. "I'm guessin' coke, right?" he asked, although it wasn't really a question, and he didn't bother waiting for a response. "When you're going down those damn lines, do you even ever stop to think what you're doing to yourself?"

"You wouldn't understand." Drake jerked his head to the side, freeing himself from Bear's hold, and roughly shoved his friend into the brick wall. "You've got it all figured out – you're going to get married, have some kids, maybe get a damn dog, while I can't even think of what I'll be doing the day after tomorrow." Drake glared at his best friend, hating him at that moment for being so content in being normal, and maybe that was why he was so drawn to Sam. With all his fake credit cards, photo badges, and secrets, the older man led the kind of life Drake believed with all his heart he was born to live as well. "An' I can't even try pretending normal is what I want cuz I've got this thing building inside my chest," he pounded hard on his chest, "makin' it hurt to even breathe and it's telling me I should be out there fighting for something, but I don't know what that is – an' I can't sleep cuz these damn thoughts keep pounding hard on my brain . . . so you tell me if I'm not thinking of what I'm doing to myself when I try to relieve some of all that with a quick fix."

"Maybe you're supposed to be fighting for yourself," tilting his head to the side, he looked beyond Drake for a moment and then refocused his gaze on him, "an' if you can't do that then maybe that's what me an' Gary are here for." The words had scarcely left Bear's mouth when someone grabbed Drake from behind, twisted his arm behind his back and snapped a cold metal cuff onto his right wrist.

Thrashing violently, Drake's head dropped forward briefly and then he whipped it back, smashing the back of his skull into Gary's face.

"Son of a bitch!" Gary hissed, losing his grip on Drake as he grabbed for his nose, but before Drake had a chance to move, Bear grabbed hold of him, swung him around and twisted his left arm up behind his back.

"Le' go of me, Bear!" Lifting a foot, he slammed the heel of his boot down hard against Bear's foot, and smirked in satisfaction when the bigger man howled in pain. The smirk, however, quickly changed to a scowl as Gary took the opportunity to snap the second cuff around his wrist.

Between the two heavier, taller men, they hauled Drake off his feet as he wildly thrashed in their arms, and carried him to Gary's truck. Practically throwing him onto the middle of the benched seat, both men hastily climbed inside the vehicle so Drake couldn't escape.

"Where the hell are you taking me?" Drake growled as he uselessly struggled against the cuffs pinning his hands behind his back.

"Intervention," Bear replied without the slightest hint that he might be joking.

"You can't be serious." Drake looked between Bear and Gary, feeling a momentary twinge of guilt as he saw his brother's best friend pinching his nose shut against the blood dripping from it, and realized they were both dead serious. "You can't do this – you have to let me go, Sam needs me."

"I love ya with all my heart, lil man, but even I don't need you around when you're always stoned off your ass, so what makes you think anyone else would?" With a heavy sigh, Bear shook his head, upper lip curling in obvious disgust, and then turned to look out the side window.

"I'm not always stoned," Drake snapped, but lost the will to fight against the restraints cutting into his wrists, and slumped in his seat. His mind made up, Bear would not change it, so Drake shifted to look at Gary, praying he would be more reasonable. "Gary, I swore to Sam I'd be there for him so you have to let me go."

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the scruffy-haired man kept his sights focused on the road. "Sorry, dude, I'm with Bear on this one."

"Holding someone against their will is illegal," Drake uselessly argued as he watched the passing fields, meadows and rolling hills, trying to gage where Gary was headed, although he had a sinking suspicion he already knew. "You both could go to jail for this."

"Then the three of us can be cellmates as I'm pretty sure taking drugs is illegal as well." Bear chuckled, yet there wasn't even the slightest hint of humor in his tone.

"Bear, please don't do this to me," Drake pleaded, fear clenching in his gut that something bad would happen to Sam if he wasn't around to protect him. "Sam's hurt an' I have to protect him, but I can't do that if you don't let me go."

Bear lifted a brow in clear confusion. "Protect him from what?"

"I dunno," Drake shrugged, "maybe from the things we read about in his journal or something worse than that, but my gut is telling me he's in danger . . . so you've gotta let me go or turn around and go back."

"What journal?" Gary leaned forward in his seat to look around and at Bear. "No one told me anything about a journal."

"It's this book with all sorts of weird shit in it. Drake stole it from Sam when he was snooping around inside his car."

"He's got all these weapons, an' fake ids, Gary." Drake shifted back to look at the older man, hoping if he knew everything he would understand Drake's need to protect Sam. "An' while I was at his motel, his wrist just split wide open – an' the room . . . I don't know, it just burst into flames. I've been around fires my whole life, an' that just doesn't happen like it did." Purposely, Drake left out the part about seeing Jake fearing that if either man thought this was more about his brother than helping Sam neither of them would believe him.

As if in thought or maybe considering the possibility that Drake might be right, Gary dragged a hand down his face, and then shifted his foot to press down on the brake. "Or like seven people walking out of a completely engulfed building unscathed." Pulling off to the side of the road, he shifted into park, got out of the vehicle and dragged Drake along with him. "I've worked for the fire department for going on twelve years now, and with everything I know, I went over your house, an' there was no way in hell any of your family should have survived."

"Sam said I wasn't even smart enough to question my family surviving the fire."

"Damn it," Bear grumbled as he stepped down from the truck and lumbered to where the two were standing in front of the vehicle, "if we're going to go with this whole crazy-assed crap is going on in Naples, New York, you might as well add in that there was no way in hell Sam should've gotten inside that burning building in Prattsburgh. I know he wasn't there, an' then he just appeared."

"So what do we do about it?" Gary asked, and then narrowing eyes on Drake, he looked him up and down. "An' why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"I was gonna ask the same thing," Bear piped in as he leaned back against the grill of the truck and folded his arms across his chest, "but then I just figured it was some sort of drug thing I wouldn't understand, so I left it alone."

"No, it's not a drug thing," Drake huffed, feeling heat rising to flush his cheeks, "Sam was bleeding really badly and my shirt was the only thing I could think of to use to wrap his wrists with."

"I probably would've used a couple of towels, but that's just me." Bear smirked, jokingly punching Drake on the bicep. "So was he impressed with your massive muscles, little man?"

"Yeah, Bear," Drake rolled his eyes, "he was so awed by them he totally forgot he was bleeding to death, so my plan to dazzle him with my muscle worked like a charm."

Clearing his throat to gain both Bear and Drake's attention, Gary said, "Since you two have gone completely off topic as usual, I've decided what we're gonna do – we go back to Sam's car, tear the damn thing apart until we find everything out we need to know about him . . . an' if that doesn't work will search the net."

"The net?" both Drake and Bear uttered almost simultaneously, a look of horror spreading equally across both of their faces.

"I don't even know how to use a computer," Bear practically whined, splaying out his arms wide, and hitched a thumb toward Drake, "an' I know damn well if I don't Muscles won't know either, so I hope you have a better plan than that."

"That's not true, I'm pretty sure I can find the on button if I really had to . . . I just never wanted to is all."

"That's really great," as he looked between the two of them, Gary shook his head, "good to know if the fate of the world rested in you two chuckleheads' hands, an' a computer was involved, I should be kissing my ass goodbye."

"Relax would ya, Gar," with a toothy grin, Bear wrapped an arm around the older man's shoulder, "we're not talking about the end of the world here . . . this is probably more along the lines of that thing that runs really fast an' eats people – what was that thing called again, Drake?"

"A wendigo."

"Right, that's it. An' seein' as Drake is our resident all-county track record holder, we got it covered in spades."

"So I should expect to see Drake running away from this thing as we're both getting eaten, is that what you're telling me?"

"No, I'm more of a running toward danger kinda guy."

"Yep, Muscles is all about living on the edge like remember the time we all decided to go hang gliding up in Bristol, an' he stood there frozen to his spot holding onto that pole for dear life while cryin' like a little girl that he knew for sure his glider was gonna bust wide open an' he was gonna face plant into the dirt at about a hundred-fifty miles an hour."

"I don't like flying – I told ya that even before we went up the damn hill, but you were all like 'oh, Drake, it's nothing at all like actual flying' – which was true, it was a helluva lot worse."

"Oh, yeah, " Gary smirked, "you were the one screaming for your mom all the way down to the ground . . . ahhh . . . good times."

"But you conquered that mountain, little man," laughing heartily, Bear hung an arm over Drake's shoulder, and pulled him closer, "an' that broken arm you got, it was like a badge of courage."

"Okay, so we're gonna break into Sam's car," Drake uttered, redirecting the conversation back to the topic at hand and away from how he had totally botched his landing because his eyes were squeezed shut the whole way down the mountain. "But first can one of you two get these cuffs off me?"

"Don't look at me, I don't have the keys," Bear said with an innocent wide-eyed look as he shrugged.

"Well, neither do I," Gary backed away from Drake, "I swiped them from your rent-a-cop friend, so maybe you could go back an' ask him nicely to remove them. I'm sure he'd be really tickled about that."

"You're kidding me right?" he asked as he looked between the two of them, and groaned.

"Where the hell would I get handcuffs from otherwise?"

"Oh, I dunno, I was thinkin' maybe your cousin Jeff the cop!"

"Oh yeah, forgot all about him." Gary laughed, but it quickly faded to half-smirk as Drake glared at him. "So anyway, new plan – first we stop by Jeff's place an' get the cuffs off Drake, get him a shirt to wear and then rummage through Sam's car for answers. Sound good?"

SNSNSNSNSNS

"Dr-Drake," Sam rasped in a voice barely above a whisper as he slowly pried his eyelids open one at a time. From behind he could hear the constant beeping of a monitor, and with his head already pounding, it sounded more like a jackhammer slamming into his brain with its never ending tempo. A groan slid past his lips as he shifted ever so slightly in his bed, and then gave up even trying to reposition himself. Vaguely recalling why he was in the hospital, he vainly tried curling his fingers into fists, but they felt heavy and useless, although the slight tingling in their tips promised to turn into full-blown pins and needles pain at any given time, and Sam truly wasn't looking forward to that oh so pleasant experience.

With thoughts of his last moments with Drake rolling across his mind, he lifted his head slightly off the pillow, and called out again, "Drake?"

"He's not here, Sam," came a familiar voice that had Sam's gut twisting inside out. "He promised he'd stick around, an' then he left – Just like Dean. I guess some things really don't change do they?"

"Lucifer," he breathed, struggling to push himself upward in bed, but as everything shifted off kilter and a wave of dizziness crashed over him, he fell backward onto the mattress. "How'd you find me?"

"Interesting story," he smiled as he picked up Sam's chart and flipped through the pages, "see, I can't find you, but I do know where Bobby is." Letting out a short barking laugh, he pointed to one of the pages he was looking at, and then looked up at Sam. "They consider you a serious risk . . . serious meaning constant twenty-four hour a day observation." With a dismissive wave of his hand, he went on to say, "So I waited, and then Drake called and told him exactly where you'd be . . . so here I am – your constant care nurse. How's that for ironic?"

"You're wasting your time; I'm never going to say yes to you."

"You will, it's just a matter of time," he stated confidently as he took a seat on the bed beside Sam, and ran a hand through his disheveled sandy-blond hair. "Dean's gone, and you're left with Drake – the country hick from Nowheresville USA. How long do you think he's going to last, Sam? He's not Dean – not even close. Say yes to me now, and I will let him live."

"He's more like Dean than you'll ever get the chance to know," Sam snarled, lips curling in rage as Lucifer threatened Drake's life, and using that anger he pushed himself upward, and came eye to eye with him. "If it's the last thing I ever do, I will see you wiped from the face of this Earth, an' it'll happen way before you ever think to hurt my brother."

"Oh, nice comeback, Sam. The only problem is how are you supposed to protect your new little brother if you're locked up in here with me," with a grin he gestured around the stark white room, and then pointed at the door, "and he's out there all alone with my family looking for him?"


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter Fifteen_

"What do think he does with all this rock salt?" Bear asked as he hefted a bag out of the Impala and plopped it on the ground with the other sacks.

"I dunno, maybe he makes ice cream with it . . . is there an' ice cream maker in there, Gary?" Drake peeked over the older man's shoulder as he rummaged through the trunk of Sam's car.

"Nope, but he does have plenty of these – whatever this is." Gary held up a small sachet for Drake to see, and then opened it and peered inside the leather pouch. "Dude, you don't even wanna know what's in this bag."

"Lemme see," Bear grabbed the bag out of his hand, and scrunched his nose as he looked inside of it. "There are bones in here – an' the thing reeks. You take it, Drake." He shoved the leather pouch into Drake's hand.

Gary shuffled through the various weapons, whistling appreciatively at several of them, and lifted a book out of the trunk to leaf through. "It's some sort of sex book, talking about a bunch of kinky positions a guy should try with a women."

"Seriously?" Both Drake and Bear uttered simultaneously, and hastily glanced over his shoulder to read the book along with him.

"Dude, you can read that?" Drake lifted a brow as he tried to decipher the words on the creamy white page. "I didn't know you knew Latin."

"I was just kidding," Gary laughed, "what part of GED did you guys not get?"

"If they want people to understand these kinds of books, they really should include pictures," Bear complained as he returned to ransacking Sam's car, and lifted out two shovels. "SO you think he uses these to bury the bodies?"

"Maybe he has an herb garden somewhere, and that's what he uses them for," Drake replied, pulling out several bags of dried herbs to show them.

"Yeah, cuz Sam really seems like the herb gardener type to me." Rolling his eyes, Gary went on to say, "this is useless, we don't know anything about this crap, and the more of it I see the more I believe that you're friend Sam's a real freak."

"See, that's what I told him, too." Bear nodded in agreement. "But I'll say one thing for the guy he sure has good taste in weapons."

"Not sure what he'd need the machetes for, but otherwise I'd have to agree with ya."

"Probably for lobbing off the heads of vampires," Drake supplied, grabbing one of the long blades out of the trunk, and waved it through the air. "Wonder how many whacks with one of these it would take to actually chop the head off a vampire . . . an' if there really is such a thing, why would I want to get close enough to it to find out?"

"Because you're a run toward danger kind of guy, remember." Grinning ear to ear, Bear clapped Drake on the back. "Put that thing back before you whack Gary's head off on accident then we'll have to use those shovels to hide the body."

Drake threw the machete back inside the trunk as the other two made quick work of putting everything else back. "So what should we do now?" he asked as he closed the lid.

"We should probably head to the library to see if we can dig up anything on Sam," Gary said, and laughed as Bear feigned a shudder.

"Dude, libraries are creepy all full of books an' nerdy geeks who actually wanna read them."

Gary nodded. "Yeah, definitely not like a skin mag where all ya gotta do is flip it open to the center page, an' you're done."

"I dated a librarian once," Drake interjected, "an', dude, she was freakin' hot."

Bear's eyes rounded incredulously as he shook his head. "Brother man, you never dated any damn librarian, Jamie would've kicked your ass."

"I did to, Jamie played naughty librarian for me once, an' she had on this really hot black mini skirt and a silky red shirt unbuttoned down to here," Drake pointed to the middle of his chest, "an' I've gotta tell ya I've never enjoyed the library at school as much as I did that night."

"Okay, so really didn't need to know that about you an' my cousin." Gary feigned a shudder as he rounded the Impala and headed to his truck with both Drake and Bear following.

SNSNSNSNSN

"Do you know what I like best about Drake?" Lucifer asked, lightly tracing his fingertips across the bandage covering Sam's wrist.

"I don't really give a rat's ass what you like about him," Sam hissed, trying to pull his arm away, but Lucifer's hand clamped down hard on injured flesh. Breathing hard against the pain, he glared at the blue-eyed man.

"I'll ask again," the fallen angel smiled sardonically, "what do you think I like best about your little brother – and this time you'd better answer."

"His aftershave?" Biting down on his lower lip to keep from crying out, Sam squeezed his eyes shut as Lucifer dug his fingers into his stitches.

"No, I like that Drake is the perfect combination of both you and Dean."

"He's nothing like me."

"Really? You think not?" Lucifer quirked a brow, and lifting a hand, sliced a nail through his own skin, splaying his flesh apart. "Put any drug under his nose, an' he'll always crumble – and you . . . ." his voice trailed off as he watched blood snake a path down his fingertips and then hung his hand over Sam's mouth.

Breathing hard through his nostrils, Sam pressed his lips tightly together as blood splattered on them to pool between the creases of his mouth and drip down the sides of his face.

"Go ahead, Sam, take a taste. Pure uncut smack, guaranteed to give you the high of a lifetime."

With every last ounce of sheer resolve Sam possessed, and remembering how badly things had gotten between him and Dean because of his addiction to demon blood, Sam forced a hand to his mouth and dragged the back of it across his lips.

"That's one for you, Sam," Lucifer conceded with a grin, and lightly blowing on his skin the deep gash healed instantly. "It's too bad Drake doesn't have that kind of willpower, and what with all his friends and family about to die, Lowey should have no problem dragging him down to Hell in one big drug-filled haze."

"You sonuvabitch, you leave his family alone," Sam snarled, spitting out the intoxicating taste of Lucifer's blood in his mouth, right into the fallen angel's face.

With a chuckle, Lucifer wiped the spittle from his face with the back of his hand. "I don't want them all to die, Sam, but I'm afraid they're going to unless you say yes to me."

SNSNSNSNSN

None of them saying a word, the three firefighters sat in front of the computer screen staring wide-eyed at it. Sure it was on, which had been a huge sigh of relief for them, but the what came after that part of the whole operating the technical piece of equipment had them more than a little baffled.

"Just press any button, Gar," Bear finally said to break the silence, and was immediately shushed by several people in the library. "Oh, like you all can't read if I'm talking – Hell, I read skin magazines with music blaring all the time, an' still get what's going on in them."

"You've never read one damn article in Hustler, dude," Drake was quick to point out, grateful for any conversation that didn't involve any aspect of connecting to the internet.

"Ummm . . . makin' a point here, an' you're ruining it."

"I'm pretty sure everyone here would've already known you don't read Hustler for the articles, Bear," Gary interjected with a wide grin. "But while we're on the subject, did you see last month's issue, with the girl with the things on her –"

"Gentlemen, please," an elderly woman called out to them from behind the front desk, "if you can't be quiet, you'll have to leave."

"Okay," Bear rolled his eyes as he lowered his voice to a whisper, "so just to clarify, being in the library is so not like being at a bar."

"Yep, definitely the first and last time I'm ever stepping inside one," Drake murmured with a nod of his head in agreement.

"So, okay," Gary said, lowering his voice several octaves, "There are all these F buttons on the top of the keypad," he waved a hand across the keyboard, "which I'm guessing are the big fuck you's to anyone who never took any computer classes in school, so we're definitely not touching any of those or the damn thing might blow up on us."

"Good plan," Drake said, and then glanced over his shoulder as an older man shushed him. "And don't hit the delete key either, brother man, or that might wipe the whole system clean, then we'll have some sort of freak library mutiny on our hands."

"My question is why aren't the letters in order?" Bear piped in to another round of people telling them all to be quiet. "An' do they really need two sets of numbers when clearly two sets of letters would be a helluva lot better."

"Why's that?" Drake asked, lifting a brow in confusion.

"We'll the damn thing's not a calculator so what's the point, but if one B wears out there would always be another one just in case."

"Huh, good point."

"Thanks, I thought so."

Clearing his throat in his oh so Gary manner to rope the two of them back in to the topic at hand, he called out to a young teenage boy sitting two tables over, "Hey, little dude, gotta question for ya. How do we get on the internet?"

"Oh, like he'll know," Bear grumbled under his breath as if his manhood had been called into question because he didn't know how to access the net.

Pushing back his chair, the lanky dark-haired youth stood, walked to their table, and using the mouse, moved the arrow to the big E on the bottom of the screen and hit the button. "What'd you want to look up?" he asked as he pushed his glasses back up over the bridge of his nose. "Cuz most things can be found if you Google them."

"Google?" Bear's golden-brown eyes widened considerably. "Dude, we're going to be googling."

"Don't mind him," Gary said as he elbowed Bear in the ribs, "he got hit in the head with a 2 by 4 an' completely lost his mind. So we're googling – go on."

The dark-eyed boy moved the arrow to the top of the screen and typed in Google, and a whole list of sites came up. He chose the first one on the page, and then when another window came up, he maneuvered the arrow to a small box and clicked on it. "So what do you want to look up?"

"Sam Winchester," the three said in unison.

The boy typed in Sam's name and a whole list of sites came up. "Now you just left click on whatever site you want to look at," the teen demonstrated, clicking on the first site on the screen, "and use this little roller here," he pointed to the little wheel on the mouse, "to move up or down the page."

"Well, what about when we're done reading this one?" Drake asked, feeling more than a little stupid at having to ask any questions at all. "How do we get back to the other screen?"

He tapped at the little arrow on the top of the screen. "Just click on that and it'll take you back."

"Thanks, little dude," Bear said, "I think we've got it from here."

"Not a problem," the boy replied, and then went back to his seat to resume his reading.

Gary now apparently feeling very computer savvy clicked back to the main page, and they all leaned in and studied the list, trying to decide if any of the sites pertained to their Sam Winchester.

"How about this one," Gary said, pointing to the screen, "Sam Winchester – wanted fugitive dies in massive explosion."

"Might as well." Drake shrugged as a sick feeling curled in the pit of his stomach. Clicking on the site, they read through the content in silence, and then looked to each other. "It seems kinda odd that Sam's body was never recovered when all the others were."

"You mean like police were covering up his disappearance or something?" Bear asked, raking a hand through his thick shaggy hair.

"I dunno, it might not even be him," Drake said, even though the tightening in his gut told him it was Sam. "Go to another site, Gary."

Clicking back to the main page, Gary scrolled down until he came upon an article about a Sam Winchester who escaped from Folsom Prison. "Hey, wasn't that Henricksen dude one of the guys who died in the explosion in Colorado?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was." Drake nodded, narrowing his gaze on the screen to read how Sam had escaped from prison right under Henricksen's nose. With a heavy sigh, he rubbed at his eyes. "Find a different site – an' for the love of God, make it one that isn't about Sam being some sort of deranged killer on the loose."

"Here's one," Gary pointed to a site called Supernatural, and clicked on it. "Seems this guy Carver Edlund writes a series about a Sam Winchester who travels across country hunting evil."

"Move over, Gary." Drake pushed Gary's hand away from the mouse and scrolled down to read the titles of the books until he came to Folsom Prison Blues and read the summary. "Look at the date this was published," he uttered, and then clicked back to the report of Sam escaping from Folsom Prison. "This dude is writing about these supernatural things, and then it's like Sam is acting them out."

"Go back to that page," Bear grabbed for the mouse when Drake didn't immediately do as he asked, and clicked on the Supernatural site. "A simple salt 'n burn of a vengeful spirit is anything but that when Sam Winchester enters Folsom Prison to find out what is killing inmates – with Henricksen's gunning to have him locked away for allegedly murdering three people, Sam's running out of time, and the bodies are piling up." With a grin, he glanced between the two of them. "Well, at least we know what the rock salt is for now."

"So does he really hunt these things or is this all just to sell books?" Gary asked, but before anyone had the chance to respond, both Bear and his pagers sounded an alarm.

"Engine 54, Rescue 54 – We have a report of a head on collision on Bristol Springs Road – tanker truck versus automobile – first responder on scene." Their search for answers forgotten, all three men shot to their feet, and rushed for the exit. "Rescue 54, please be advised of incoming reports of two people pinned inside automobile."

Grabbing their turnout gear from the compartment in the back of Gary's truck, the three jumped into the cab and flew out of the parking lot. Racing down the road, Gary flipped on his blue flashers, and cars in front of him immediately pulled to the side of the road to let them pass.

"Engine 54, Rescue 54," dispatch came on line over Gary's fire scanner, "Tanker truck is reported to be leaking fuel oil - Hazmat en route, ETA ten minutes."

"Dray, you're dad's gonna be pissed as all hell if you show up at this crash when he put you on leave," Bear said as he maneuvered in his seat to slip on his protective coat.

"Screw him, this is my freakin' job, an' if he doesn't like it then I'll go work out of Prattsburgh." Sliding back in his seat, Drake slid his fire resistant pants on over his jeans. "An' it's not like he's gonna say anything anyways."

"Rescue 54," dispatch came over the scanner again, "please be advised first responder down – reports coming in of two more automobiles involved."

"What the bloody freakin' hell." Gary slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. "Freakin' idiots couldn't see a tanker truck, an' ran right into the damn thing?"

"Engine 54, Rescue 54 – Engine Company 22 en route ETA fifteen minute."

"This is going to be bad," Drake swallowed hard, and opened his mouth to say some more but was cut off as his cell phone rang. Fumbling to get to it through his turnout gear, he answered it after the sixth ring. "This is Drake, speak to me."

"Drake," came Markus' breathless voice over the other end of the line, "Is Bear with you?"

Shifting his gaze to momentarily to look at the bigger man sitting beside him, he felt a thick knot forming in his throat as he responded, "Yeah."

"Whatever you do, don't let him near this accident," Markus said in a rush, and in the background Drake could hear the shouts of firefighters and the grinding noise of the Jaws of Life peeling away the metal of one of the cars involved in the crash. "Rico an' Cindy . . . they – God, they never even stood a chance . . . the freakin' trucker swerved into their lane an' he didn't even hit the brakes . . . just barreled right through 'em like they weren't even there."

"Holy shit." His hands trembling uncontrollably, the phone slipped from Drake's grasp to fall on the floor. "Gary, stop the truck!"

"What?" Gary blurted out incredulously as he jerked his head to the side to look at Drake.

"Stop the fucking truck, now!" Grabbing for the wheel, Drake cranked it hard to the right as Gary slammed on the brakes.

"Drake, what are you doing?" the older man uttered as he shifted the truck into park. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Is your dad alright?" Bear leaned down and snatched the cell phone off the floor, but before he could speak into it, Drake grabbed it away from him. "Drake, you're scaring the hell out of me, just tell us what's wrong."

"I-It's Cindy an' Rico."

"N-No," Bear shook his head in denial, but his face crumpled as tears gathered in his eyes. "She told me th-that her an' Rico w-were gonna hang out at lake all day . . . so yer wrong – give me the goddamn phone so I can call her cuz sh-she's there an' I'll prove it to ya."

Vision blurring as tears welled at the corners of his eyes, Drake shifted in his seat and pulled Bear into his arms. "I wish I was wrong – you have no idea how much I wish it, but I'm not an' I'm so sorry . . . God, I'm so sorry."


	16. Chapter 16

_Hey all, thanks for reading and for all the great comments and support for my story. Just wanted to say in response to one review, yeah, Drake, Gary, and Bear do seem way out of touch with computers, but I actually did base Gary on my own brother Gary who is a firefighter in Prattsburgh, and believe me he truly was that clueless as far as computers are concerned, and when I was teaching him about them he actually did bring up the topic of why there are two sets of numbers instead of letters on a keyboard - Drake, Gary and Bear, much like my lil' bro are purely outdoors country boys, fishing, hunting, four-wheeling, fighting fires, and drinking at the bars till closing time so they could really care less about learning about a computer...sorry if I inadvertently offended anyone. Thanks again. Hugs, Ember_

_Chapter Sixteen_

"Le' go of me, ya sonuvabitch," Bear growled, forcefully shoving Drake away from him. "Gary, get your ass moving, we have a job to do."

Gary ticked his gaze from Drake to Bear and then back again, and Drake gave him a pleading look, praying he would listen to him instead of their fellow firefighter. "Bear, I don't think –"

"Yer not seriously gonna listen to him are you?" Bear turned hate-filled eyes on Drake. "The fuckin' cokehead's so messed up on shit he doesn't even know what the hell's going around him most the time. SO get your ass moving. NOW!"

Swallowing back the hurt and pain ripping a hole through his heart, Drake grabbed the keys out of the ignition. "Bear, I know you wanna believe I'm . . . please, you don't wanna see her like that – God, just listen to me, Markus said it's really bad."

"Give me the damn keys, Drake," Bear snarled, jerking forward to snatch them out of Drake's hand, but Drake pulled his arm away. "If you don't give me the goddamn keys, I swear to God, I'll ram my fist right down your freakin' throat."

"Drake, maybe we should –"

"No, Gary, we shouldn't," Drake snapped, stomach clenching as both his closest friends turned on him in a matter of a heartbeat. "If we could save their lives, you know I'd be the first person there, but that's not what's going to happen."

"But that tanker could explode," Gary countered, "an' our brothers are there fighting to save lives, so I don't know about you, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do something to help out."

Bear flung open the passenger's door, and gripping hold of Drake, dragged him out of the truck. "Give me the keys, Drake!"

"Bear, I'm begging you not to do this," Drake pleaded, struggling to keep the keys out of the bigger man's reach, "You're my brother an' I don't want –"

"You're no brother of mine, you sonuvabitch," cocking back a beefy fist, Bear slammed it full-force into Drake's chest, throwing him backwards to the ground. "Now give me the goddamn keys."

Gasping for breath, Drake braced a hand against the ground and hauled himself to his feet. "No!" he uttered, determined to keep his best friend from witnessing something that would haunt him for the rest of his life, and was back on the ground in seconds flat as another fist connected with his stomach.

Gary was out of the truck, and snatching the keys from his grip before Drake had the chance to pull himself off the ground again. "You can stay here, Drake, or you can go with us, but I'm not gonna let him beat the hell out of you – so you decide."

"It'll crush him, Gar – I can't let that happen to him . . . I won't."

"You can't keep him from it, Dray," Gripping hold of Drake's hand, Gary pulled him to his feet, "He'll pound your face into the ground cuz you won't do anything to stop him, an' then he'll still go and see her for himself."

"Let's go, Gary," Bear snarled giving Drake one more hateful look before he lumbered back to the truck, and slid onto the passenger's seat.

"You drive," Gary pressed the keys into Drake's hand, and then followed Bear, pushing the bigger man over into the middle of the benched seat.

Staring long and hard at the silver keys dangling from his fingertips, Drake grimly weighed his options, gut twisting with the wish that he could be lost in the non caring world a drug induced high would give him, and then heaving a weary sigh, headed for the driver's side.

SNSNSNSNSN

"Seven people Drake knows and cares about will die before the week's over with, Sam," Lucifer stated matter-of-factly as he took to his feet and set to pacing in front of the bed. "And it won't stop there unless you do the right thing."

"And if I do what you think is the right thing even more people will die – so the answer's still no."

"I can bring back Dean for you, and I know that's something you want more than anything – Michael won't do it for you . . . Castiel can't," he pivoted on his spot to look Sam in the eye, "so that just leaves me."

Squeezing his eyes shut against the thought and hope of ever seeing Dean again, Sam shook his head. "Dean's already here with me – he never left, so you can take your offer and shove it up your ass."

"You will give in to me, Sam; you're not strong enough to deny me for any real length of time."

With a lift of his brow, he pushed a hand through his hair as he bit at his lower lip as if in thought. "You know Dean didn't believe in you – didn't think you were strong enough. It's why he always thought he needed to protect you as if you were a little boy." He chuckled lightly as Sam lowered his head seeing the truth in his words. "Little Sammy who couldn't take care of himself without big brother to drive away all the scary little things that go bump in the night. He knew in the end it would come to this. He knew you would give in to me."

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe he's gone so I can stand on my own two feet – stand up to you, and send you back to Hell where you belong?"

The smile momentarily slipped from Lucifer's rugged features, uncertainty registering in his clear blue eyes, but to cover he waved a dismissive hand. "That would've required consent on his part – he screamed like all hell when his soul was ripped from him . . . no bravery there, Sammy, just a broken shell of a man losing his last bits of humanity. You have Michael to thank for that so don't you want to direct your anger where it rightly belongs?"

As Lucifer advanced a step toward the bed the fire alarm abruptly blared, and as he ticked his gaze upward toward the ceiling a showers of fire rained down from the sprinklers above and encircled him within its fiery veil. With a smirk and a shake of his head in amusement, he made to step through the curtain of flames only to stop short unable to breech the barrier. Then within a blink of an eye Castiel appear beside Sam's bed.

"Holy fire?" With a lift of his brow, Lucifer locked eyes on Castiel as he took a backward step away from the fiery cage. "I didn't think you had it in you, Castiel," narrowing his eyes on him, he studied him for a moment, and Sam could've sworn he heard him let out a curse, "or maybe you do."

"Hello, Lucifer." Tucking his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, Castiel slowly circled the shower of flames. "It's been a long time."

"A real long time," Lucifer nodded, "You're looking much worse for the wear."

"I could say the same for you." As he circled around the blaze, he paused to look at Sam, and tension easing from his solemn features, he smiled. "I believe Sam is a lot stronger than you think he is, and so did Dean."

"You know you can't keep me trapped here," Lucifer snarled, losing some of the calm he'd always held so prevalent.

"No, I don't know that at all . . . I would say I can keep you trapped in there for as long as I need to." Sam parted his lips to speak, but with a shake of his head, Castiel silenced all the wild thoughts racing through his head, and he snapped his mouth shut. "He's an angel, Sam – albeit a fallen one, so the same rules still apply for him as they did for Gabriel."

"And how about for you, Castiel?" Lucifer prompted as he looked through the fiery veil at Sam. "What rules apply to you?"

"The same as always, I would suspect," Castiel responded cryptically as he returned his attention to Sam. "I think it's best if we leave, Sam."

Removing the IV's and monitors Sam was hooked up to with a wave of his hand; Castiel wrapped an arm around his back and helped him to his feet. "What are you going to fold your arms over your chest, nod your head and blink us out of here like Jeanie," Sam couldn't help ask after seeing Castiel's newfound abilities firsthand.

"No, I was thinking we would walk out that door over there," he responded flatly, and nudged his head toward the entrance of the hospital room.

With eyes on Lucifer and leaning heavily against Castiel, Sam slowly made his way through the door, but stopped short as the fallen angel called out, "I wonder how Drake is going to feel when he sees _his _mother burning up on the ceiling?"

Remembering how badly Dean had been affected by the night their mother died, Sam swung back but before he had a chance to say or do anything, Castiel waved a hand and the door slammed shut.

SNSNSNSNSN

Drake couldn't move – his legs wouldn't budge and he really didn't want them to. The scene unfolding in front of his eyes reminded him of something his brother might have witnessed in Iraq. The tanker truck lay partially on its side with Cindy's car wedged firmly beneath the front tires. Thick black smoke rose from within a cyclone of flames towering over the tops of the trees branches charring them black as their leaves withered from the intense heat and burned away. Another car had plowed into the back of her car, crumpling the trunk into the backseat as if that car, too, hadn't even bothered to hit the brakes when the driver saw the accident. And as he looked off into the ditch, he spotted a jeep flipped over on its roof with smoke billowing from the engine.

They had heard and felt the explosion rock the ground and rattle the windows of Gary's truck from several miles out, and at the time, Drake had once again pleaded with Bear to stay away from the fire, but his friend didn't even bother to respond to him.

From off to the left, he could hear his father shouting orders, and watched as if in a daze as Bear rushed toward Cindy's car, only to be pulled away by several firefighters. Through a haze of smoke, he saw his friend screaming, although now his ears were closed off to the sound of it along with everything else around him. Heart pounding hard in his ears, and a thick knot choking off his breath, he waited and watched as Bear crumbled to the ground, knees buckling as if someone had slammed a baseball bat against the back of them. And then he saw Lowey standing behind the police barricade, eyes black as a moonless night, smirking at him as their gazes locked.

"Drake, get your ass moving," Gary hollered, grabbing hold of his arm and yanking him around to face him. "You've got a job to do, so get your head in the game."

"I – " Drake glanced back at the small crowd of onlookers searching for Lowey, but the tall dark-haired man was gone, and maybe he had never been there in the first place. "I can't do this, Gar," he shook his head and his eyes once again fell to Bear curled up on the ground rocking back and forth with his hands clasped around his head, "my head's all freakin' screwed up right now . . . what with the – look, I can't think straight, an' someone's going to – I won't let anyone get hurt cuz of me."

Eying him for several long seconds, Gary heaved a sigh, and nudged his head toward Bear. "Get him up an' take him home cuz I don't want him to be here when they pull her body from the wreckage."

"Which is what I said in the first place," Drake muttered under his breath as he pivoted on his heel, walked over to Bear, crouched beside him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Brian, let me take you home."

Eyes locked on the crushed vehicle of the woman he'd intended on marrying, Bear slowly shook his head. "Go away, Drake."

"Come on, Bear, you don't need to see this."

Bear broke his gaze from the horrific car accident, and with deadened gold-brown eyes stared at Drake for what seemed the longest time before he finally uttered, "No, what I don't need to see is you."

"Look, Bear, I know you – "

"No, you don't know," Bear snapped, cutting him off before he had a chance to say anything more, "I would've been with her if it hadn't been for you. Cindy and her brother were going to pick me up from the hospital an' then we were going to spend the day at the lake – but then I saw you all drugged out about to get your ass thrown in jail, so I called her back and told her you needed m-me." His words choking off on a sob, Bear rubbed at his eyes as he returned his gaze to the firefighters working to control the fire rolling from the tanker truck to engulf Cindy's car. "If I wasn't with you, she an' Rico would be alive right now, so tell me what you think you know little man, an' I'll tell you you're full of shit."

Training blurry eyes on a black body bag covering one of the victims of the accident, Drake swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. "You're right, I don't know anything." He drew in a staggering breath as he pushed himself to his feet. "But even if you blame me for this – even if you hate me . . . I'm not going to say I'm sorry you were with me cuz I couldn't live if something happened to you."


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry for the delay, I got so wrapped up in writing my novel I forgot I hadn't posted in several days. Hope everyone enjoys!! Thanks for taking the time to read and for all the awesome comments!! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Seventeen_

Drake drove around aimlessly the rest of the night, and early into the next day. With Bear's accusations weighing heavily on his mind, he couldn't face his parents or any of his friends certain they would feel the same way about him as his best friend did. Not knowing where else to go or who else to turn to, Drake drove back to the hospital. His first thought was to check on Sam – his second to retrieve the cocaine he had left in the older man's car. Hands trembling and heart shattering into pieces, he gripped a tighter hold of the steering wheel with one hand while wiping away the moisture in his eyes with the other.

Everything was falling apart all around him – his job, friends, his home . . . all gone in a matter of days, and no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, it always circled back to Sam being responsible for what he was going through. From the moment the older man had driven into town, Drake's world began to crumble. If he hadn't asked Bear to take his shift so he could chase after Sam, Jasper probably would still be alive. He would have been home when his house caught fire, and maybe between him and his father they could have saved the house. He would've never been at the hospital arguing with the security guard, Bear would've never seen him, and his friend might've been able to save Cindy and Rico.

But for as much as he believed with all his heart that Sam was to blame, Drake still couldn't bring himself to walk away from him. Maybe it was because they had both lost a brother or maybe it was because Sam seemed every bit as lost, scared and alone as Drake felt, but he had never felt so bound or connected to another person in his whole life, and that terrified him.

Pulled from his troubled thoughts by the sight of several police cars parked outside of the hospital entrance, Drake's heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach recalling everything he had researched on the internet about his new friend. Quickly finding a spot to park, he was out of the car in a shot, running toward the front entrance of the building.

With his head lowered as he passed by several police officers, Drake made his way to the admissions desk, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter until a young man glanced up at him. "Can I . . ." the man's voice trailed off briefly as he looked Drake up and down, and then went on to say, "you must be fire investigator."

Drake glanced down at his turnout gear, and then looked back up at the man. "Ummm . . . yeah, that would be me – the fire investigator . . . Victor Hendricksen," he added recalling the name of the special agent he had read about on the internet.

"Psych ward – Fifth floor," he pointed down a hallway off to the left, "take that corridor to the second set of elevators," handing him a visitor's badge, he went on to say, "it's a locked ward, so you have to wear this badge."

"Thanks." Before the man could say anything else or Drake could say something to give away the fact he wasn't a fire investigator, he hurried away.

Following the man's instructions, he stepped out of the elevator and made his way to the reception desk. "I'm here from the fire investigator's office," he said to the petite blond behind the desk, stomach churning as he glanced around certain he would get caught and then end up spending time in jail. "Were you on duty at the time of the fire?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "I had just come on duty about five minutes before the explosion."

"The explosion?" Drake's eyes rounded incredulously, looking around again for any signs of fire damage to the locked ward, but found nothing apparent. "What do you mean by explosion?" he asked as he grabbed a pen and piece of paper off the counter to pretend he was writing down whatever information she might have about the fire.

"Well, there was this really loud boom kinda noise, an' then the door to one patient's room just blew right off its hinges and went right through the opposite wall. Luckily the other room was empty at the time."

"I see," Drake scribbled across the page, "and can you please tell me the name of the patient in room of the explosion?"

The blond glanced down at a list of patients on her desk and then glanced up at him. "His name was Sam Winchester?"

"Was?" Hand tightening around the pen, Drake fought the sick feeling rising from the pit of his stomach. "Did the patient die?"

"I didn't go back there," the girl shook her head, "but from what they told me there was nothing left of him or the observation nurse assigned to his care." Hearing Sam was dead, the pen snapped in Drake's hand, black ink oozing from the small hollow tube to coat his fingertips. "Sir, are you alright?" the receptionist asked, bobbing her head toward his hand as she grabbed a tissue for him.

"I-I . . . ahh . . . are you sure," Tears stinging at his eyes, Drake licked at his suddenly dried lips, "I mean they could've . . . are you sure they didn't get out before the explosion."

"No," she shook her head again, "the police reviewed the security tapes right after the fire department left, and from what I heard, no one was seen leaving the room."

"I'm going to need to take a look at the damage to determine how the explosion occurred," Drake uttered, mind racing to find any possible way Sam might have been able to escape from the room undetected by the security camera, but couldn't think of anything. He'd spent enough time in the locked ward of the hospital to know there were no windows in any of the rooms, and there was only one door leading out of reach one of them and they were always locked, leaving him with no way out. "So could you let me in?"

"Sure thing," she replied as she hit the buzzer, and pointed to the doors as the swung open. "It's the tenth room down to your left," she added, although Drake seriously doubted he would need the information to find Sam's room.

Steeling himself against the panic and dread welling up inside of him as the doors slid closed behind him, once more locking him inside the psych ward, Drake took several deep breaths and pushed past room number seven. His room – or the room they had forced him to stay in until they transferred him to the hospital in Rochester. For as much as he wanted to find out what had happened to Sam an even greater need to escape clawed at his insides, and twice he almost turned back before he came to the burned out remains of the room Sam had stayed in.

He paused to take a look at the huge jagged hole left in the wall opposite of the blast, and pulling out his flashlight; he flipped it on, and peered inside. In the far corner of the room, he spied the remains of the tattered door wedged into the wall. He then swiveled on his heel, and directed the beam into the charred room, noting how it was the only room on the whole floor with any apparent fire damage. Running a hand along the outer wall, he looked and felt for stress cracks, certain there would be some as the force it would take to throw a door off its hinges, hurtle it through a wall to lodge into the far retaining wall would leave some sort of cracks to the outer structure of the room, but he found nothing.

Taking a tentative step inside the room, he scrunched his nose at the overwhelming aroma of sulfur permeating the air, and overshadowing the scent of burnt timber. "Alright, Sammy, I'm gonna take that smell to mean something supernatural happened here, so if you're here somewhere . . . like a vengeful spirit or something, remember I'm the good guy, 'kay?" he said as he flashed his light around the room and then swept the beam across the ground until he spied a circular formation burned into the floor near the twisted metal wreckage of the bed.

His brows furrowed as he closed the gap, crouched beside the circle, and ran his fingertips along the blackened formation, noting how on the inside of the circle the floor remained completely unmarred of any fire damage. As he pulled his hand away, he rubbed his fingertips together, felt the slickness of whatever substance had created the marking, then brought his fingers to his nose and smelled the pungent scent of some kind of oil.

Dropping his head back onto his shoulders, he glanced up at the ceiling, and directed the beam of light at the sprinkler system overhead. Then gauging the circular pattern the water would make as it sprayed from the sprinkler head, he glanced back down at the circle. _No freakin' way. _

Puzzled as to how oil could have gotten into the fire protection system, Drake pushed himself upward, and hurried across to the room next door, grabbed a chair and headed back to Sam's room. As he climbed up onto the chair, he tried to work through all the possible reasons why the ground inside the circle remained untouched while everything outside had been burned beyond recognition, and only came to the ridiculous conclusion that whatever was inside the space had been powerful enough to prevent it from being destroyed.

"Well, one thing's for certain, it was definitely not a Wendigo," he concluded with a grim chuckle as he trailed his fingers along the sprinkler head, pulled them away and rubbed the tips together, feeling the same slick oily substance as on the floor. "So what does that leave, Sam?" Silently praying that Sam would somehow hear him, and supply him with the answers he needed, he flashed his light around the room perimeter of the room.

Narrowing his eyes, he pivoted around on the chair to study what he assumed was the initial damage from the blast, noting how it rimmed all four walls in the room, and then looked back at the circle. He hopped down from the chair, and took a step inside the circle, and as he did a shiver raced down his spine. With one last glance up at the sprinkler, Drake splayed out a hand in front of himself, and his stomach flip-flopped as he came to the realization that the initial path of destruction emanated from the spot he was standing on. "Okay, Sammy, so you had whatever kind of creature it was trapped inside this circle by the fire from the sprinkler, and then it raised its hand, and the flames blasted outward toward the wall. That still doesn't answer what happened to you 'cause I refuse to believe you're dead."

_What the hell am I doing? I'm a freakin' firefighter; I don't know jack shit about this kinda stuff." _Frustrated beyond words, Drake dragged a hand across his face as he took one last fleeting glance around the room, and then headed for the door.

"So, did you figure out what happened?" the blond receptionist asked as she pushed the button to allow Drake to leave the locked ward.

"Umm . . . yeah," he hitched a thumb back over his shoulder, "there was some sort of explosion that caused a fire."

"I pretty much figured that one out for myself," she muttered with a huff, and without another word to Drake returned to her paperwork.

With head hung low and averting his gaze from any police officers milling around, Drake hurried through the hospital, and once outside made his way to where he had parked the Impala. Eyes widening considerably he stared at a blue Chevy truck parked in the spot where he was certain he had left Sam's vehicle. Narrowing his gaze, he peered around the lot searching for the old black car, but couldn't find it anywhere.

"I knew you weren't dead, Sam." A smile lit across Drake's features as he pivoted on his heel and headed toward Gary's truck.

However he stopped short, breath catching in his throat as he saw an old beat up black truck pull into the parking lot. Eyes trained on the vehicle, his legs began to shake, knees nearly buckling when an older, bearded man stepped from the truck, and rushed inside the hospital.

Stark pain shot through his temples, and squeezing his eyelids shut, he envisioned an older version of himself standing beside a funeral pyre with Sam at his side. His breath coming in short gasping bursts, he reached out and grabbed for the nearest car, fearing his legs would give out on him as unexplainable rage welled up inside him. Unable to resist the urge driving him to find out whom the older man was, Drake raced after him.

"What do you mean there was an accident?" the dark-haired man shouted, slamming his fist down on the counter, and the young receptionist visibly flinched. "I wanna see my son. Now!"

"I-I'm afraid there was an explosion, s-sir," the receptionist stammered, and Drake watched as he backed further away from the bigger man. "Your son – he's . . . he died, sir."

"Sam said you were dead," Drake breathed, unaware that he had spoken aloud until the imposing man swung around to face him.

"You know my son?" he asked, narrowed brown eyes on him, and unconsciously Drake took a backward step. "Don't I know you?"

"Ahh," swallowing hard, he shook his head, "no, I umm . . . I just met your son a few days ago."

"Aren't you the fire investigator?" the fair-haired receptionist interjected, eyeing both men, and earned himself a glare from Drake.

"Yeah, that would be me – the fire investigator," Drake lied, certain that even if everyone else in the whole hospital believed him, Sam's father saw right through his charade, and the intimidating glint in his eyes at that moment had Drake taking several more backward steps.

"Where's my son?" The receptionist forgotten, the older man menacingly closed the gap between them. "He's not dead, so you tell me where he is right now."

"I dunno where your son is." Taking a quick glance around, Drake searched for the same police officers he had hid from as he was leaving the hospital earlier. Stomach somersaulting worse than if he had been thrown from a bull, and the damn thing was charging at him full speed, he swung around and raced for the exit, and upon reflection that was probably the worst thing he could have done as the older man followed.

He hadn't even made it halfway across the ambulance turnaround, and Sam's father grabbed hold of his arm and flung him around. "I won't ask you again, so you'd better damn well tell me where Sam is right now."

"He's gone – his car's not where I left it, so I'm guessing he took off."

"Where you left it?" He lifted a brow as he studied Drake closely, and Drake's heart set off at a wild gallop under such close scrutiny. "So that would make you Drake, wouldn't it?"

"How'd you know?"

"Bobby said some kid named Drake called and said he was taking Sam to this hospital, an' since you parked his car, I'm guessing that makes you Drake."

"And that would make you . . . ." Drake's voice trailed off to give him an opportunity to respond, and as he waited he studied the bearded man, feeling a similar kind of connection to him as with his son.

"John Winchester," he supplied after a moment's hesitation in which Drake was certain he was considering lying to him about his name. "Are you really a firefighter?" he went on to ask as he locked eyes with Drake.

"Yeah, Engine Company 54 out of Naples." He hooked a thumb in the direction of where his hometown was located.

"But you're not a fire inspector," he surmised, still holding tight to Drake's arm as if undecided if he was a threat or not.

"No," he shook his head, "I just came to check on Sam, an' that's when I heard about the explosion in his room . . . so I lied so I could find out what happened to him."

"And what did you find out?"

"I don't really know." Drake shirked his arm, trying to break John's hold on him, but his grip was as steely as Bear's which meant there was no way in hell he was getting free until the older man let go of him. "All I can tell you is some sort of freaky shit happened in his room that I can't even begin to explain. Now can you let go of my arm?"

"No," his grip tightened around Drake's arm, "You're coming with me."

"No, I'm not," Drake blurted out, tugging hard to break free of his grasp, to no avail, "I've got my buddy's truck that I have to get back to him, so I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Oh yeah, you are," John countered in a tone that brooked no argument, "'cause as far as I can tell, you were one of the last people to see my son before he disappeared, so I'm not letting you out of my sight until I find him."

Drake's eyes widened incredulously. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No, you actually kinda look like an' asshole to me," Drake retorted, cursing under his breath as a deep scowl furrowed the older man's brow. "An' I'm guessing I probably shouldn't have said that aloud."

"No, it probably wasn't the smartest thing you could've said – now let's go." Without giving Drake a chance to argue further, John dragged him to the driver's side of his truck, flung open the door, and pushed him inside. "Don't even think of trying to get out," he warned as he slid into the seat beside Drake, and slammed the door shut.

"Look, I get it, you're all John McClane, yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker, so ya didn't even need to warn me – I wasn't planning on going anywhere cuz my mom would kill me if I came home dead tonight – it's spaghetti an' meatball night, she makes it just for me, so ya know."

Without responding, John started the engine, revved it a few times, and then tore out of the parking lot as if he really was badass John McClane and Drake didn't doubt for a second that the man sitting beside him could put the fictional character to shame if he wanted to. "So, John, what do you do with yourself when you're not abducting local firefighters to take on high speed pursuits?" he asked, nervously tapping on his knee as he tried not to consider what the older man would do to him if something bad had happened to Sam. But when he tried not to think of that his mind wandered and stayed locked on the cocaine he had left in the Impala.

Hands beginning to tremble, he shoved them under his arms as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "Look, I'm a little wound up, so could you please just say something," he added when John remained stonily silent. "I know you probably don't care, but I had a really bad night, an' this morning's sucking out loud so far, an' I really need a . . . so please talk to me."

"What do you need?" John cast a sidelong glance in his direction, studied him for a moment, and then refocused his attention on the road. "So how long have you been using?"

"Huh?" was all Drake could think to say, mentally kicking himself for wanting to open the lines of communication with the older man.

"I asked how long you've been taking drugs, so let's cut through the bullshit, an' you give me a straight answer."

"I'm not – " his voice abruptly trailed off as he looked to John and their eyes locked, and with a curse, he hastily looked away. "My brother died in Iraq a little over two years ago," he drew in a staggering breath, "an' once in a while it gets to be too much, but I'm not an addict or anything."

"Then why are you trembling?"

"'Cause like said, I had a bad night, an' this is shaping up to be one suck ass day."

"And you need a fix," John asked, although it wasn't really a question, and from the look on his face, he already knew the answer.

"Maybe I do," Drake conceded, narrowing his gaze on the man he couldn't seem to lie to, "but if your best friend blamed you because his future wife died last night, one of your best friends died, you lost your home in a fire, and you couldn't even go to work cuz your damn boss thinks you're a . . . you'd need something, too."

"I lost my wife and my home to a fire . . . it destroyed my world, and brought me to a nightmare existence you can't even begin to imagine, but I never took any drugs to hide from the pain."

"Well, good for you," Drake snapped, furious with both himself for admitting he needed a fix, and Sam's father for boasting how much stronger of a person he was by comparison. "With a father as perfect as you must be, it's no wonder Sam slit both his wrists."

"I didn't say I was perfect," John muttered, white-knuckling the steering wheel. "I was just trying to . . . ." with a heavy sigh, his voice trailed off.

"You were trying to what, John? Save me from myself?" Drake shifted in his seat to glare at the older man. "You're not my father so I really don't need some lecture from you on what I should or shouldn't be doing – save that for Sam an' Dean cuz it seems to me they could use your bullshit speeches more than I do."

"Dean?" John lifted a brow in confusion. "Who the hell is Dean?"

"Your s-son," he stammered, trembling fingers clutching at his chest as pain knifed through his heart.

"I don't have a son named Dean."

Another stabbing pain ripped through Drake's chest, and breathing hard he wrapped his arms around himself with nails biting into the fabric of his turnout jacket. "Ya gotta let me outta here, John . . . I have to – you don't need me to find S-Sam, so just let me go."

"Is it really that bad?" he asked with an almost fatherly concern, and squeezing his eyes shut Drake nodded. "Listen, Drake, you've got to fight it or it'll end up killin' ya."

"Pull over an' let me out of the damn truck."

"I already told you until I find my son you're not going anywhere, so you're just going to have to ride it out." Gripping hold of Drake's arm, he roughly yanked him back against the seat as Drake tried to throw open the passenger's door. "Don't even think of trying that again." With a look that clearly said don't screw with me, John left the threat wide open which to Drake was a helluva lot worse than if he had just said he was going to beat the crap out of him and leave him bleeding to death on the side of the road.

"It's no wonder Sam told me you were d-dead." Breathing in and out slowly through his nose in hopes of alleviating some of the tightness in his chest, he went on to add, "If you were my father, I'd probably say the same thing."

"That's funny because I was just thinking that if you were my son, I'd be kicking your ass all over the place if I found out you were a two-bit junkie – what kind of man is your dad that he would allow you to do this to yourself?"

"My father's a great man, so don't you dare talk about him," hands clenching into tight fists, Drake shifted in his seat to glare at the older man, "an' besides I'm twenty-one years old so I don't need anyone's permission to do anything I want to do."

"Being twenty-one doesn't make you a man, son," John let out a wry laugh as he ticked his gaze between Drake and the road, "and in your case I'd say it just makes you stupid an' probably in more need of protection of a parent than most people your age."

"That's not true," Drake uttered, wishing John would have just punched him in the gut as it would've probably hurt less than his belittling comments. "I'm a firefighter – I save lives – "

"Every life but your own, I'd imagine," John butted in, cutting him off before he could defend himself. "See, the way I picture it, you keep going the way you're going now, an' you probably won't make it to your twenty-second birthday."

"Shouldn't you be worrying about your own sons instead of giving me one of your best fatherly speeches – Sam sure as hell seems to need one, an' God only knows where Dean is since you've chosen to write him off as if he never even existed."

John's grip tightened around the steering wheel as he cast a glance in his direction, and Drake's heart leapt into his throat at the near desperate searching look in his brown eyes, but then he shook his head and returned his attention to driving. "I already told you I don't have a son named Dean."

"How could you just forget him like this?" Drake asked as he rubbed away the tears stinging at his eyes. "What did he do so wrong that you stopped loving him?"

"Believe me, Drake, if I had another son I'd be willing to die for him, just like I would die for Sam," he heaved a weary sigh, "but I don't have another son, so there's no point in arguing about this."

No matter how many times the older man denied it, Drake had seen the pain etched into Sam's eyes as he sliced into his veins, and the brokenhearted sadness in his tone as he called out to Dean – it wasn't something anyone could fake, and it was something Drake would never forget seeing, so if he had to choose between who he believed hands down Sam would win.

"You're a real asshole, John," he uttered, breathing a thankful sigh that his own father never tried to pretend as if Jake had never lived and chose to honor his memory.

"I've been called worse by people who matter more, so I really don't care what you think of me, Drake." Although he tried to hide it, Drake heard the veiled tremor in his deep voice as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and he smiled knowing his opinion did matter to the bearded man.


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter Eighteen_

As John and Drake drove down the hilly road into the village of Naples, Drake sunk low in his seat, praying no one who knew him would see him. John had fallen into an unnerving silence after he'd responded to Drake's insult, and it set him even more on edge than he already was if that was even possible. Hands tucked firmly beneath his arms, he impatiently tapped his foot against the floor in hopes that it would bother the older man enough that he would speak again, but he didn't seem to notice Drake's growing agitation or if he did he didn't care.

"So where do you and Sam live?" he asked when he could no longer stand the silence.

"No where," he answered stoically with his eyes trained on the road.

"Okay," with a roll of his eyes, Drake pursed his lips, "how about a job, John, do you have one of those?"

"Off and on."

"How about a girlfriend?" Drake's voice rose in irritation at his noncommittal responses. "You have one of those?"

"No."

"You're a regular little Chatty Cathy, aren't you, John?" With a heavy groan, Drake gave up asking questions, shifted to look out the side window, and spied Lowey's truck parked outside Bob's Tavern. Moisture beading on his brow and above his upper lip, he swiped a shaky hand across his mouth and then dragged it along his forehead. "Maybe we should check out that bar," he bobbed his head in the direction of the tavern, "it's nearly lunchtime and Sam really liked the food there."

John leaned forward in his seat, peered out the window at the bar and then shook his head. "His car's not there."

"He could've walked there," Drake gritted out, forcing a smile, "it's a nice day – sun's out, birds are freakin' singing . . . an' I've really gotta use the bathroom, so stop the damn truck."

"Fine," he growled as he pressed on the brake, pulled into the lot and parked near the front entrance. "We go in, look around, and if he's not there, we're out of there. Got me?"

"Yeah, I got you." Out of the truck before John even had the chance to open his door, Drake raced inside the building, and taking a quick look around, spotted Lowey playing pool with two guys he'd never seen before. Making eye contact with the scruffy-haired man, he nudged his head toward the bathroom, and Lowey nodded in response.

With a fleeting glance over his shoulder at John, he made his way to the bathroom with Lowey following at a leisurely pace. "You've got all kinds of new friends, don't ya, Drake?" Lowey smirked as he closed the bathroom door behind him. "Who's the old dude with you?"

"He's nobody," he swallowed hard, hating the knowing glint in the lanky man's dark eyes, "look, I just need . . . do you have anything on you."

"Yeah," tucking his hand into his pocket, he chuckled, "not that I'm giving you any though."

"Come on, Lowey, I don't have time to play games with you," he gritted out as he eyed the door, certain John would barge in at any moment to haul him out of there. "I'll take whatever you've got."

"You already owe me money, Drake, so there's no way in hell I'm going to keep supporting your little habit unless . . . ." his voice trailed off as he pulled a small baggie out of his pocket. "You want this I want something in return – sort of like collateral until I get my money from you."

"What do you want?" Heart hammering away inside his chest, he stared at the white powder in the bag.

"I'll take that cross necklace you're always wearing."

"No," pursing his lips, he shook his head, "my brother gave me that so think of something else."

"I don't want anything else of yours," he shrugged as he hitched a thumb over his shoulder, "you wanna get high, I wanna make sure I get my money, so either give me the cross or I'm going to go back out and play some pool."

Pressing his eyelids closed against the sting of tears, Drake gripped hold of the silver cross, praying for all he was worth that he could say no to Loewy – but he couldn't. "Tell me you're not going to sell it."

"Who would buy it?" Lowey laughed, holding out his hand as Drake pulled the necklace over his head, and with shaky fingers he pressed it into Lowey's hand. "You're such a pathetic loser, Drake," he jeered as slipped on the necklace and then handed Drake the bag of cocaine.

"You'll get your money by tonight," he vowed with eyes locked on his cross dangling from the sleazy dealer's neck. "An' when you do, I want my cross back."

"Like I'd really want to keep it." With a roll of his eyes, he pivoted on his heel, unlocked the door, and flung it open. "Enjoy yourself, _little_ man," he called back over his shoulder as he headed out of the room and the door swung closed behind him.

_God, I hate you. _Body trembling and stomach flip-flopping, Drake eyed the bathroom exited for several long seconds, almost hoping that John would barge in and stop him, but when he didn't, Drake took a step forward and locked the door. Lightly grazing his fingers against his chest, he rubbed at the spot where the warm metal of his cross had always touched his skin, and a lone tear slipped unchecked down his cheek as he stared long and hard at the bag held tightly in his grasp.

"Please, I can't . . . ." His head dropped back onto his shoulders as he let out a soft broken sob. "I need some help."

"I guess that's a no then," he mumbled dejectedly after several seconds had past, "that's okay cuz I really didn't need your help anyways." Vision blurring with tears, he set the baggie down on the sink, fumbled through his pockets, and yanked out the keys to Sam's car. With hands quivering, he dug one of the keys into the bag, lining it with a thick rail of white powder, and then brought it up to his nose. But before he had the chance to inhale the drug, the bathroom door slammed wide open, and in walked John.

Caught red handed and not really knowing what else to do, he made to snort in the cocaine, but with lightning fast reflexes John swatted the keys out of his hand and then grabbed the bag from him.

"That's mine!" Drake snarled, darting forward to grab the bag out of his hand, but John cocked his arm back holding it out of reach. "Give it back, John!"

"Do you know that guy out there," he hitched a thumb over his shoulder, "he's laughing it up out there about you."

"I don't care." Snaking out an arm, Drake reached for the cocaine again, but John pulled back and he caught nothing but air. "You don't know what that cost me, so give it back. Now!"

John fixed him with a scowling glare as he pushed him backward and stalked to one of the urinals. "What'd you drop to your knees for him, Drake?"

Shaking his head emphatically, Drake staggered slightly at the force of his cruel insinuation. "No, I'd never do that – I wouldn't!"

"But you would give him the cross your brother gave you," he snapped angrily, "he thought that was really funny, and made damn sure everyone in the bar knew how freakin' pathetic you are."

Lips quivering as he struggled to find the words to deny what he had done, he eyed the older man, silently pleading with him not to dump the coke into the urinal. "Don't do it," raking his hands through his hair, Drake helplessly watched as he tipped the baggie upside down, "please, John, I'm beggin' ya not to – " his voice caught in his throat as white powder fell like snow into the filthy toilet.

"You want it – get it out of there cuz that's where shit like that belongs," John growled without a bit of sympathy his harden glare. "Now let's get the hell out of here," he added when Drake stood motionless staring at the empty bag.

"I hate you," Drake breathed, swiping away the tears burning at his eyes.

"I'm fine with you hating me for something your father should've done a helluva long time ago, an' I'd do it again and again if it kept you from being some sort of strung-out puppet for that jerk out there." Snatching the car keys off the ground, he clutched hold of Drake's arm, and dragged him out the door. "'Cause whether you wanna believe it or not there will come a point where you're so damn low, that you would drop to your knees for that guy or someone else to get what you wanted."

With his eyes pinned on the wooden floor planks and the sounds of snickering ringing in his ears, Drake allowed John to haul him out of the tavern. His heart beat at an erratic gallop as he laid shaky, clammy fingers on Dean's leather necklace and clutched a tight hold of the charm. Terrified that John might be right – that he could sink to depths he'd never believed possible, he got in the truck and sunk low in his seat.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," John ordered, slammed the door shut, and then headed back inside the tavern.

Every ingrained instinct told Drake to throw open the door, hop out of the vehicle and run, leaving John to find Sam on his own, but as he spied the older man's cell phone laying on the seat beside him, another idea occurred to him. With a hasty glance back toward the building, he snatched it up off the seat, flipped it open, scrolled down the list of contacts and found the name he was searching for. _Okay, Sam, if you're not going to give me the answers I'm searching for, maybe she will. _After another quick look out the window, he searched through the glove compartment until he found a pen and a piece of paper then wrote down the number, stuffing it into his jacket pocket just as he saw John exiting the tavern.

"Here, take it," John uttered as he slid behind the wheel, and then shoved Drake's cross into his hand, "and don't ever let me catch you giving it away again or I'll beat the crap out of you. Understood?"

Mouth gapping, Drake looked from the silver cross to John and back again. "Y-you got it back for me . . . why?"

With a heavy sigh, John shifted in his seat to eye Drake. "Because no matter how much you wanted to believe he would've given it back, he wouldn't have, an' he would've used it to drag you down even further than you already are – and for some damn unexplainable reason, I don't want to see that happen to you."


	19. Chapter 19

Thanks so much for the continued support and awesome comments for my story. All the kinds responses really mean so much to me and help to keep me going since I know this going to be quite a long story. Hope everyone enjoys! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Nineteen_

"You reek of Death, Sam," Castiel uttered, crinkling his nose in distaste as he guided Sam into the motel room, and helped him into bed. "You should really consider taking a shower."

"I have to find Drake." Sam splayed out his hands in front of himself and stared at the bandages covering both his wrists. His fingers trembled as he tried to curl them into fists, but after several unsuccessful attempts he growled in frustration. "But even if I do, how am I supposed to protect him like this?"

"Do you know what blasphemare absens fides means, Sam?" Castiel asked, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, and grasped a light hold of one of Sam's hands.

"Yeah, it has to do with the absence of faith, and how it leads to other things."

The angel nodded as he gently trailed his fingertips over Sam's wrist, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut as searing heat boiled below his skin. "Therein lays the real danger Drake faces just as you did before you lost your faith."

"I didn't lose my faith it was driven out of me by everything I've seen an' fought along the way," Sam gritted out, hissing through the pain as Castiel clamped a hand down hard on his injured wrist. "Anytime ya wanna stop that, it would be freakin' peachy."

"Make a fist, Sam."

"I already tried – I can't."

"I said make a fist," Castiel reiterated, but before Sam had a chance to even consider doing as he asked, the angel wrapped a hand around his and pressed his fingers downward forming a fist.

The somber-faced angel released his hold of his hand, and Sam stared in wide-eyed disbelief as he flexed and curled his fingers without a trace of trembling pain. "How'd you do that?" he asked, eying Castiel suspiciously. "Or maybe the better question is who are you? The Castiel I know was on the outs with everyone upstairs, and his angel mojo was more like some damn carnival magician's tricks than what I've seen you doing."

"I am the same Castiel who has been with you since the Apocalypse began," the angel replied cryptically, leaving Sam to wonder if the real Castiel had died when Lucifer had been released.

"Then how come all of the sudden you're so juiced up?"

"If you'd rather I didn't heal you, Sam, then I won't," Castiel responded, ignoring Sam's question.

Although he obviously couldn't refuse Castiel's help, he still had to wonder what it would cost him in the end, and also did his returned abilities have anything to do with Dean losing his soul to Drake. "Tell me you didn't have anything to do with them getting rid of Dean."

"I cared about your brother and would never do anything he didn't ask me to do."

For some reason his assurances didn't leave Sam feeling any more comfortable about the situation, but Dean had trusted Castiel – something he didn't do easily or lightly – so Sam was forced to let the matter slide for the time being. With a heavy sigh, he held out his other wrist to the angel.

SNSNSNSNSN

"You hit him," Drake lifted a brow in utter amazement, "You actually hauled off and slugged the sonuvabitch to get my cross back?"

"It wasn't that big of a deal, Drake," John muttered, his gaze darting back and forth along the main street of the village, searching for Sam's car. "Knocked him flat in one punch so I wouldn't really call it a fight."

"Yeah, but . . . well, you don't know how many times I've wanted to beat the crap out of him."

"Then why didn't you?" The older man shifted his gaze to look at Drake, and eying him for a moment he shook his head in what could only be clear disappointment. "Because then where would you get your next high from, right?"

"You never got high, John?" Drake asked, forcing himself to keep a level tone although he doubted the astute man missed how badly he was trembling or fidgeting in his seat. "You never got so damn drunk you didn't wake up wondering where you were or what the hell you did the night before?"

John's hands tightened around the steering wheel as his gaze hardened into an icy glare. "What I do is none of your damn business. Got that?"

"Oh, so it's okay if we talk about me, an' what a fuck up I am, but your personal business is strictly off limits – well, screw you, old man," Drake shot back, earning him another murderous glare from the imposing man sitting beside him. "Is that why Sam said you were dead? 'Cause maybe he thought you got off'ed while out on another freakin' drunkin' bender, an' never even bothered to look for you – just cuz it's not illegal doesn't make it any less of a damn drug, John, remember that."

"If I drink it's because – "

"Because you're just as screwed up as me," Drake cut him off, finishing his sentence before he could make some stupid excuse that neither of them would believe.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll change the damn subject now," John growled, and with a muttered curse he returned his attention to searching for the Impala.

"Alright," Drake conceded with a nod, "tell me what a hunter does . . . an' don't give me some bullshit story about how you kill Bambi an' Thumper cuz I'm lookin' for the truth here."

"How do you know about hunters?" With a furrow of his brow, John pinned him with another hard stare that almost had Drake wishing he hadn't brought the subject up.

"When I called Bobby, he asked if I was a hunter . . . an' then there are these books about Sam." Raking his trembling fingers through his hair, Drake searched his frazzled mind for all the information he had gathered about John's son so far, and groaned at how ridiculous it all sounded and almost forewent adding anymore of what he learned, but his curiosity wouldn't let the matter go. "An' he has all these weapons an' weird-assed shit in his trunk . . . bones an' fingernail clippings in little bags that smelled like something died inside of them – I wanna know what those are – an' I wanna know what you are."

"No, you really don't."

With a grim look of determination to keep Drake in the dark about what he and Sam were, John fell silent, leaving Drake even more frustrated. "You don't want to tell me, that's okay – but I will find out."

John grunted something unintelligible under his breath, but refused to respond. Undeterred, Drake's mind raced as his heart beat at an erratic rate. _I don't need you to tell me what you are, John, I'll get the answers I need from Missouri. _Of course that meant he had to get away from both Sam and John, and to do that he would need a vehicle of his own – or one he borrowed without permission.

"I'm going to need my keys back," he held out a quivering hand, "you took 'em, give 'em back."

"I wasn't planning on stealing your friend's truck, Drake," John grumbled, digging through his pocket, extracted the keys and shoved them in Drake's hand.

_No, but I'm going to steal your son's car. _Drake smirked. "I never said you were."

"I don't see Sam's Impala anywhere," John said, changing the subject as they drove out of the village, "how far to the next town?"

"Prattsburgh is about fifteen miles from here, but they don't have any motels," Drake paused a moment to give it some thought, and then motioned off to the right, "turn onto that road, there's a bed 'n breakfast up a ways into the mountain . . . not sure Sam's really the bed 'n breakfast type, but it's worth a shot." John followed his directions and within a matter of ten minutes they spotted the Impala and pulled into the parking lot of the Greenwoods Bed and Breakfast. "Huh, guess he is the Bed 'n Breakfast type . . . the things you learn about the psychotic people you meet."

"Shut up, Drake," John ordered as he slid out of the driver's seat, came around to Drake's side of the truck and hauled him out of the vehicle.

"I was getting out . . . didn't really need to be all manhandled," Drake grumbled under his breath, shirking free of John's hold on him. He dragged his feet as they approached the large open porch of plantation style home, stomach flip-flopping at the thought of going inside the inn that he had once visited so often before the time he had spent in the mental institution. "You know, you and Sam really need to seek some sort of professional help for all your anger management issues."

"Just get moving." John pushed him toward the oak double doors of the inn, and fell in line behind him. "An' if it's not too much to ask, keep your mouth shut when we get inside."

Keeping his gaze averted from the old wooden porch swing, he gave a curt nod. "Gotcha, get moving an' keep my mouth shut . . . but what if Mr. or Mrs. Harrison ask how my parents are doing – or what if they wanna know if I'd like some pie? Can I speak then to answer them or are they on a need to basis on this crack rescue mission you've got going on?"

"If these are people who do know your family I think with the way you look at the moment," he waved his hand up and down the length of Drake's trembling frame, "the best thing you could do is just keep your head down, an' let me do all the talking."

Drake opened his mouth to argue, to tell John that his jitteriness had more to do with entering the inn than any drugs he might have been taking, but snapped it shut as they reached the doors. With his hand on the brass doorknob, he glanced back at the bearded man. "Why can't you do this by yourself – I'll wait in the truck . . . or I'll walk home, no big deal." Without responding, John reached around him, opened the door, and pushed him inside. "Or I could go in with you."

With his heart in his throat at the tinkling sound of bells announcing their arrival, he glanced around the foyer noting it hadn't changed at all since the last time he'd been there. The place still smelled of fresh cut pine and wildflowers – country and homey at the same time, and it made his stomach twist into tight knots.

The Harrison's had always been the outdoors type, and had brought that feeling into their inn, accenting all the rooms with a touch or two of what they referred to as the 'wild'. Most of the small tables in the inn had been handmade by Mr. Harrison using white birch, and Drake had helped with several of them. Mrs. Harrison loved the fresh scent of pine, and with an artistic flare had decorated both the fireplace mantel and banister with pine garland. Complete with paintings of woodland scenes along with soft glowing candles always made the place a perfect retreat for anyone who wanted to get away from city life for a while.

"Jamie," Drake breathed, swallowing hard as he saw her walk toward them from the hallway leading to the kitchen. Her head was lowered, dark curls shrouding her face as she wiped the flour from her hands onto her jeans. With his heart slamming hard against his chest, he looked toward the door, wondering if he could make it out of there before she looked up, but even before he could consider it as a real possibility, she glanced up and stopped dead in her tracks.

Her soft gray eyes swept over every inch of him as she bit pensively at her full, dewy pink lower lip. She was nervous, that much he could tell she'd always had a habit of tucking her long chestnut hair behind her ear when she was uncertain about something, and by the way she kept looking over her shoulder as if she too was wondering if she should make a run for it. "What are you doing here, Drake?" she finally asked as she squared her shoulders, looked briefly at John, and then closed the gap between them.

"Jamie . . . I wouldn't have . . . I didn't mean to," stumbling over his words, he licked at his suddenly dry lips as he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved with all his heart, and saw only the bitterness of how he had destroyed everything between them. "He's looking for his son," he muttered, lowering his sights to the hardwood floor as he hitched a thumb in John's direction. "The guy who owns the black Impala."

"Oh, you mean Mr. Plant?" Jamie turned her back on Drake and headed behind the marbled desk to check the register.

"No, his name is – "

"Yeah, that would be him," John cut him off before he could say anymore. "What room is he in?"

"Room number seven . . . top of the stairs," she pointed toward the banister, and then shook her head, "you know what, you don't need me to tell you where the room is – Drake already knows . . . don't you, Drake?"

Pressing his eyes closed, Drake fought back the memories of the first time he had made love to Jamie in that room while her parents were away for the weekend. It was one of his best and most painful memories, and to have her throw it in his face made it all the more hard to bear. "Yeah, I know where it is."

"If that's all you need I have to get – "

"Jamie, wait," Drake grasped hold of her arm as she made to leave, "I wanted to . . . you have to understand, I never meant to . . . ." His voice trailed off as he stared into the depths of her misty gray eyes. "The night I came here, an' we broke up . . . that wasn't – " His voice broke off abruptly yet again, there was no way he could explain something to her when he didn't understand it himself. And he had no doubt in his mind that she would never believe his real intention for coming over that night was to ask her to marry him, but the words stuck in his throat, and instead he found himself saying to her that she wasn't what he wanted anymore. "Never mind – it doesn't matter anymore."

"Whatever, Drake," with a muted cry, she dabbed away the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes, "don't let my father catch you here 'cause he swore if he ever saw you again, he'd fill you full of buckshot." Without another word, she turned her back on him, and walked back to the kitchen.

"So I guess that answers the question as to whether they might invite you to have pie with them," John said with a wry laugh, but it faded as he looked long and hard at Drake. "You know what, Drake, you're better off not forming any sort of real attachments to people – in the end it just hurts all the more when you do."

"Is that your Hunter motto, John," Drake snapped, eying the wooden door leading to the kitchen, wishing he could go to Jamie and make things right between them. But if he really wanted to be truthful, no matter how much he loved her, and no matter how much it killed him inside, he would never find the words within himself to say he wanted to marry her. "Keep people at arm's length so they can never screw you over – if that's the case, I should probably get down on my hands and knees, an' thank God that I'm not your son an' didn't have to grow up like Sam did with you as a father."

For the first time since he had met John, some of his imposing facade slipped away, and he saw pain etched clearly in the older man's expressive brown eyes. For as weird as it seemed to Drake, there was almost a longing and loss mingled with confusion in their depths. It was almost as if he didn't understand what he was missing out on, and it only served to add to the growing mystery surrounding the Winchesters. But with rake of his hand through his hair, and a rub of his hand across his face, the harden facade fell back into place.

"Let's go," he said, nudging his head toward the staircase.

John followed Drake up the stairs and down the hall, stopping at the room Jamie had told them belonged to Mr. Plant, and as Drake knocked on the door he paused to wonder why Sam had given them an assumed name instead of his real one.

"Sam, it's Drake let me in," he called out, knocking a little harder on the door when Sam didn't immediately respond, fear welling inside of him that the thing that had gotten into his hospital room had injured him even worse than he already was. But as the door swung open, and Sam stood there looking perfectly healthy, his mouth dropped open – yet his reaction couldn't even begin to compare to Sam's when he looked beyond Drake to his father. A myriad of emotions ranging from shocked disbelief and rage to a glimmer of hopefulness splayed across his face and then were overshadowed by a look of fierce protectiveness.

"Drake!" Sam shouted, and before Drake could even think to react Sam grabbed hold of him and dragged him through the doorway, trying to kick it shut before John could enter.

Snaking out an arm, John caught hold of the door and forced it back open. "What the hell are you doing, Sam?" he shouted as he stepped over the threshold, entered the room, and shut the door behind him.

"You're not my father," Sam snarled, protectively pushing Drake behind him as he inched his way backward into the room, "so who the hell are you?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" John quirked a brow in confusion as he took a tentative step forward.

"Sam, he is John," a familiar voice called out, and Drake turned his head and noticed the man he had seen in his barn the day his house had burned to the ground.

"No, he isn't, Castiel," Sam uttered with a shake of his head, "my dad died a few years ago – whoever this is," he gestured toward John, "it's not my dad."

"You're Castiel?" Drake muttered, not that any of them heard him, and shifted to get a better look at the man that the older version of himself had spoken of when Drake had been hallucinating. _How the hell did I know your name? _

"He broke the first seal, Sam," Castiel responded, ignoring Drake as he rose to his feet from the chair he had been sitting on, and closed the gap to where they stood, coming to stand between John and Sam. "I pulled him out – " He eyed Sam for several long seconds, and then looked to Drake. "It wasn't a perfect plan . . . there were wrinkles, remember?"

"What does he mean by first seal, Sam?" Drake asked, grabbing Sam by the arm and swung him around to face him. "An' how the hell did you heal so quickly?" Twisting the older man's arm around, he drew in a sharp breath when he noticed the smooth unmarred skin of Sam's wrist. "Scratch that – you almost bled to death so how the fuck did you make those wounds disappear?"

"Not now, Drake," Sam growled, forcefully pushing him backward into the bed, and the swung to look at his father and Castiel again. "So he's really – you're sure he is . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as Castiel nodded. He glanced back over his shoulder at Drake with tears brimming in his hazel eyes. "I'm sorry, Drake," he uttered, wiping the back of his hand across his face as he looked back to his father, and then pushing Castiel aside, he pulled John into a tight embrace. "God, I've missed you so much, dad."

Uncomfortable and unsure of what he was supposed to do Drake edged his way toward the door, carefully slid it open, and slipped out of the room.


	20. Chapter 20

Thanks for reading and for all the really great comments. I'm so thrilled everyone is enjoying the story! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty_

Drake felt more than a small measure of guilt as he drove away from the bed and breakfast in Sam's car, but eased his conscience with the knowledge that he hadn't wanted to go with John in the first place. As he drove a million questions circled around inside his head – none of which would he find the answers to if he relied on the Winchesters to supply them. And even if Sam did break down and tell him what was going on, he doubted he would believe him. Everything he said to Drake so far had turned out to be a lie even if the older man believed he was telling the truth.

John was alive.

There was no Dean – both John and Bobby agreed on this matter, and even if in his gut Drake wanted to believe Sam, he couldn't deny the fact that there wasn't any proof his brother ever existed.

But those two things alone begged the question of what else had Sam lied about – and did he really want the answer to that? Maybe it was better if he never learned the truth about the Winchesters – he'd only known them a short time and already his life had been turned completely upside down. Hell, within a matter of a few days he gone from a generally law abiding citizen to someone who'd impersonated a fire investigator and committed grand theft auto.

Without any given destination in mind, Drake found himself on the road to Bear's house, and fighting back all the reasons why he should leave his best friend alone, he pulled into the long gravel driveway. As he parked alongside the three other vehicles in the driveway, he noticed Bear sitting beside a large spring-fed pond in the side yard. With a heavy sigh, Drake got out of the car, shrugged out of his turnout jacket, threw it on the front seat, and then proceeded to head over to where his friend sat staring out at the water.

"Hey, Bear," he uttered as he crouched beside the bigger man, noticed a partially empty twelve pack, and grabbed himself one. "I just wanted to come by an' see if there was anything I could do for you . . . an' to say I'm so sorry about Cindy an' Rico."

For an unbearably long few moments, Drake remained stonily silent, waiting and hoping Bear would respond, but when he failed to speak, Drake swallowed down the thick lump in his throat, took a gulp of his beer, and tried again. "Tell me what to do, Brian . . . I-I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing you can do, Drake," Bear uttered in a barely audible whisper as he rubbed at his eyes and scrubbed a hand across his haggard features. "Just go away, an' don't come back."

"Y-You don't mean that." Drake's grip tightened around the beer can in his hand as he fought back the tears brimming in his eyes. "Say you don't mean it."

"I don't want you at their funerals . . . y-you don't belong there," he stammered, and whether he really meant it or not, Drake's heart shattered nonetheless.

"Alright," Drake gave a curt nod as he wiped away the lone tear trailing a path down his cheek, "if that's what you want . . . I'll leave."

Pushing to his feet, Drake tossed aside his unfinished beer, lumbered back to the Impala and slid behind the wheel. As he started the engine, he watched his best friend through blurry eyes, praying he would change his mind, but he remained unmoving in his spot. Heart in his throat, Drake revved the engine, and peeled out of the driveway, kicking up gravel and dust in the vehicle's wake.

With Bear's last words ringing in his ears, he raced home, took a quick shower, changed into clean clothes, and then hastily packed his duffel bag. Luckily both his parents were out, more than likely at the firehall, so he wouldn't have to face them at the moment or have to explain why he wasn't going to attend any of his friends' funerals. Undoubtedly if they were home, they would have tried to persuade him into believing Bear hadn't meant what he said, and that he would regret not getting to say his last goodbyes to all his friends, but at the moment that was the last thing Drake wanted to hear.

Tears slipping unchecked down his cheeks, he scrawled out a note to them, and left it on the kitchen counter where they would be certain to see it when they got home. Then he headed to their bedroom, rummaged through his dad's dresser and yanked out the small wad of cash his father kept on hand for emergencies.

In under an hour, he was back on the road and heading toward the thruway. Hand trembling, he reached into his pocket, fished out his cell phone along with Missouri's number, and jabbed at the buttons to call her.

After the third ring, a woman with a deep southern drawl came answered with a drawn out hello.

"Is this Missouri?" Drake asked, stomach churning as he pulled open the glove compartment to find a map, and spied the bag of cocaine he had left in the Impala.

"Boy, ya called my number, so I think it's rather obvious ya got Missouri," she replied breathily. "How can I help ya?"

"I-I'm looking for answers." Shaky fingers grazing along the edges of the baggie of white power, he forced himself to push it away, and grabbed for the map.

"Child, we're all lookin' for the answers, it just depends on whether yer ready ta hear the truth or not that's in question."

Drake bit pensively at his lower lip as he contemplated what she had said, trying to determine if he really wanted to know the answers to the questions pounding at his brain. The simple easy answer was no. But after everything he had seen and felt over the last few days, he couldn't walk away without knowing what it all meant.

"Do you think it would be alright if I came and talked to you?"

"I think that would be alright."

Momentarily believing she would say no, Drake breathed a sigh of relief at her response. "Where do you live?"

"Lawrence, Kansas," she replied, but before she could give him the address he cut her off.

"Kansas . . . as in Dorothy an' the Wizard of Oz Kansas?" He swallowed hard as he looked through the rearview mirror at the direction in which he had just travelled. "Umm . . . ." he scratched at the back of his head, "That's kind of long distance . . . can I maybe just get the answers over the phone?"

"Do I sound like the psychic hotline to you, boy?" she huffed in a no nonsense manner.

"Well . . . uh . . . no, I don't think so anyway," Drake uttered at a complete loss as to what else he should say. "I just don't like – I've never liked travelling all that much."

"Well, I don't suppose you would," she responded cryptically, "but I can't really tell fer sure until I meet ya."

"Alright," scrubbing a hand across his face, Drake heaved a groan, "give me the address."

"1321 West 6th Street."

"I'll be there in a few days."

SNSNSNSNSN

"I never thought I'd see you again," Sam said as he pulled back from his father and recommitted his stern face to memory. Aside from being a little more gray at the temples and the growing weariness in his brown eyes, his father looked exactly the same as before he had died.

"I was only gone a few weeks, Sam," John replied, looking from Sam to Castiel and then back again. "What the hell's going on? Bobby calls an' tells me your hurt real bad, an' then I get here an' there's nothing wrong with you – then this kid tells me you said I was dead." He glanced around Sam, and narrowed his eyes. "Where the hell did he go?"

"Drake?" Sam swung around on his spot, noticed Drake was missing, and then turned to look at Castiel. "You let him leave?"

"I didn't stop him if that's what you mean," Castiel replied with a shrug.

"We have to go after him." Without waiting for either of them to respond, Sam grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, but John grabbed hold his arm to stop him.

"Let him go, Sam, we've got more important things to deal with."

"That's where you're wrong," Sam shirked free of his grasp, "my brother's more important than any other damn thing we've got going on – So you can either come with me or stay here . . . an' I don't really give a damn at the moment which you choose."

"Your brother?" John furrowed his brow in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about, Sam?"

"I'm talking about Dean, Dad," Sam growled, clenching his fists as he fought the urge to hit his father until his memories of Dean came flooding back to him. "God, how the hell could you forget him? He was your son . . . he worshipped the freakin' ground you walked on, an' you're standing here looking at me like I've gone out of my mind."

"You don't have a brother," he said with finality, and to Sam it was clear that in his father's mind the conversation was over.

"Whatever," Sam threw up his hands in frustration, "I've gotten along just fine without your help up until this point so why should things change just because you're around now." Without giving John a chance to argue further, Sam swung around and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Sam's jaw dropped wide open the moment he stepped outside the inn, and looked at the now empty spot where the Impala had been parked, spun on his heel to go back inside, and slammed headlong into his father. "He took the damn car!"

SNSNSNSNSN

Sam and John had searched for Drake for the better part of the afternoon and into the early evening, but it was as if Drake had just up and disappeared taking the Impala with him. As Sam had feared, Drake knew absolutely everyone in town and each person he asked about where his brother might be had a different idea of where they might find him. They'd searched his house; the barn; the firehall; local bars; the out of the way location where he and his friends liked to go off-roading; the rodeo near Prattsburgh as someone had insisted he loved riding bull and was probably practicing up for the rodeo on Friday; the bar in Wayland as another person suggested he might be checking things out for when his band played on Saturday, but every lead ended in a dead end.

The only positive thing to come out of the long search for his brother was when they ran into Gary at Bob's Tavern, and he gave them Drake's cell phone number. But as Drake seemed to be ignoring the thirty or so calls Sam had placed to him, they'd run out of options and headed back to the inn to see if he might have returned there. But as Sam pulled into the parking lot he notice two things almost simultaneously – the first being that the Impala wasn't there which meant neither was Drake, and the second was that the double doors to the inn were thrown wide open to bang back and forth against the cedar siding in the stiff breeze.

Sam and John exchanged a knowing glance before they quietly slid out of the truck, made their way to the back of the vehicle to get their weapons, and then with guns in hand stealthily crept toward the front entrance of the inn. With a nod from his father after he ducked his head inside and took a look around, Sam followed as he slipped silently into the empty foyer. Off to the left, the door to a small library was left ajar, and the dim light coming through an open curtain illuminated the area enough for them to see no one was in sparsely furnished room.

John nudged his head and motioned with his gun toward the common area to the right beyond the stairs, and Sam fell in line behind him as he cautiously approached the arched entranceway. As they passed the staircase, the sound of tinkling wind chimes met Sam's ears, and set his nerves on edge.

"Sulfur," John murmured as he sniffed the air just outside the expansive room, and Sam nodded his head as he crinkled his nose at the pungent aroma wafting outward from the common area.

As a team they flanked both sides of the archway, and as John gave a subtle nudge of his head, they charged into the room with guns at the ready, but all too quickly they stopped abruptly and their sights dropped to the floor where the gruesome remains of a man and woman lay in a dark pool of their own blood.

Sam's gaze swept upward and his heart caught in his throat as he saw Drake's name scrawled in crimson onto the light heathery-colored wall. It was a clear warning to Sam that although John and everyone else had forgotten about Dean, demons still remembered. "They're going after Drake," he uttered, and without another word or waiting for his father, he spun around on his heel and raced back to the truck.

SNSNSNSNSN

It was nearing two-thirty in the morning when Drake pulled into the parking lot of the Rest Easy motel in Indianapolis. After several minutes of grappling with the idea of using one of Sam's phony credit cards to pay for a room, he let out a tired sigh, and pulled open the glove compartment. If someone had told him two weeks ago that within a short amount of time, he would be driving cross country in a stolen vehicle and using fake credit cards to pay for his little trip, he would have laughed in their face.

_Fred Hinkle. _He rolled his eyes at the name embossed on the card in his hand, imagining a man with that kind of name as someone who wore nondescript blue suits with equally blah ties while carrying a briefcase to some office job somewhere in the city. _How the hell am I supposed to myself look like a Fred Hinkle? _

However, as it turned out, at two-thirty in the morning in some dumpy little motel, no one really seemed to give a rat's ass what Fred Hinkle might look like, nor did the receptionist seem to care that Drake's hands were shaking so badly he could barely sign the forged name.

"God, how does Sam do this?" Drake muttered under his breath as he hastily strode from the motel office and headed toward room fourteen. He had scarcely made it through the doorway when his cell phone rang – again. It had been ringing almost nonstop since around ten o'clock, but he had refused to answer it, but now as he looked at the screen and saw Gary's name on the little blue screen, he jabbed the button, wanting to hear a familiar voice. "Hey, Gar," he muttered tiredly as he threw his duffel bag on the floor, trudged to the bed and dropped down onto it. "Kinda late isn't it?"

"Dude, where are you?" Gary responded with an unmistakable edge in his tone.

Glancing around the room at all the long cracks in the sand colored walls, Drake raked a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Jamie's not with you, is she?"

Drake pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment, and furrowing his brow he stared at it in confusion. "No, why the hell would Jamie be with me?" he asked, wondering if maybe his friend had been out drinking, but he sounded sober enough, and that had Drake's stomach twisting in tight knots. "I was at the inn earlier today and saw her, an' that pretty much sucked out loud, so I'm thinkin' I'm probably the last person she'd want to take a road trip with."

"You're sure . . . I mean really sure – no bullshittin' me?"

"What's going on, Gary?"

Gary fell silent for what seemed the longest time, and just when Drake had begun to wonder if his friend had hung up, he drew in a deep breath, and said, "I don't know what happened, but sh-she . . . God, Drake, Jeff said . . . he told me there was blood everywhere."

"Who's blood?" Heart lodged in his throat, Drake bound to his feet, and frantically set to pacing. "Wh-what do you mean there was blood everywhere?"

"Jamie's parents – she killed them, Drake . . . Jeff, he wasn't supposed to tell me anything . . . ." Gary's voice trailed off as he drew in several deep breaths, and then continued, "But, when he saw your – "

"Saw my what?" Drake prompted when his friend abruptly went silent again. "Gary, talk to me, tell me what Jeff saw."

"Sh-she wrote your name in her parent's blood."

"No," Drake adamantly shook his head, "Jeff's wrong – Jamie would never hurt anyone. You know that . . . so you go and convince him he's wrong!"

"Don't you think I tried?" Gary's voice raised several octaves as he defended himself. "I told him he was full of shit, an' needed to get his head out of his ass an' find out what happened . . . but the Harrison's had security cameras set up, an' it was all caught on tape."

"Then the tapes are wrong." Squeezing his eyes shut, Drake fought back the imagined images of Jamie brutally murdering her parents. "There has to be another explanation cuz I won't believe she hurt anyone."

"I wanna say you're right, Dray, but I dunno." Heaving a heavy sigh, he went on to add, "The whole damn thing's screwed up – an' Jeff was pretty freaked out by everything he saw . . . he told me he'd never seen anything so brutal before an' even swore her eyes were pure black when she glanced up into the camera for a moment."

Drake dragged a hand across his face and rubbed at his eyes as he tried to process everything Gary had said. No matter how he looked it, nothing added up. Jamie. His house burning to the ground but his family walking away unharmed. Jasper. Rico. Cindy. The fire in the motel after Sam had his sliced his wrists only to have them heal over as if he'd never cut them wide open.

"What if this is one of those things we read about in Sam's journal?" he said, feeling slightly foolish for mentioning it, but he'd rather believe something supernatural had killed Jamie's parents than think her capable of murder. "Probably not a Wendigo, but maybe something that could . . . ummm . . . I dunno ," he shrugged as he searched his frazzled brain for what kind of creature could transform into Jamie, "maybe it just looked like Jamie."

"Dude, even if you wanna go with the whole crazy as all hell killer zombie murdered Jamie's parent's theory, she's still screwed – no one's ever going to believe she didn't do it."

"Then I'll find a way to prove it."

"How?"

"I'm on my way to see someone who has the answers I'm looking for right now." With a near jaw-breaking yawn, he stooped, grabbed his duffel off the floor, and headed back out the door. "I'll give you a call when I'm heading home."


	21. Chapter 21

Thanks again for sticking with the story and for all the really awesome comments. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-One_

Exhausted even though he had pulled off into a truck stop to catch a couple hours sleep, Drake pushed himself to keep going and reached Lawrence around eleven in the morning. With a heavy yawn, his eyelids flitted closed as he paused at a stop sign, but at the sound of a car horn blaring behind him, they fluttered open and he saw a gray two story home with black shutters and a red brick chimney. Waving for the car to go around him, he slowly drove past the home with the eerie half-dead tree in the front yard, and then after passing the house, he did a quick u-turn and went back, and parked alongside the curb.

He leaned forward and with elbows resting on the steering wheel, he glanced up at the corner bedroom, and shivered as a cold chill worked its way down his spine. His eyelids fluttered closed again and as they did he saw the fiery image of a blond haired woman.

_I remember the fire . . . the heat . . . an' then I carried you out the front door. _He heard himself saying over and over again inside his head, and as he glanced at the upstairs window once more, he imagined a fiery explosion blowing out the windows. Scratching at the back of his head, he tried to recall if he had ever saved anyone from a fire in a home that looked like the one he was staring at now, and came up with a few possibilities even though his gut told him that the memory he was reliving was from this house.

"I'm completely losing it," he muttered under his breath as he shifted the car back into drive, and sped away before anymore unwanted images filled and messed with his mind.

As he drove the rest of the way to Missouri's place, he considered all the reasons why he might be drawn to a home in a state he'd never been to before, but couldn't come up with any answers. Yet, he did discover one thing with brilliant startling clarity – he hated Kansas to the very core of his being, and the thought of staying for any length of time left him wanting to throw up. His stomach churned as he watched little kids playing outside their homes, and he cringed at the sight of mothers strolling along the sidewalks with baby carriages. It was all so innocent, and not unlike the things he saw everyday in Naples, but here it felt so wrong and he couldn't fathom why.

With a tired sigh, he focused his attention on the road, and turned up the radio in an attempt to block out all the thoughts swirling around inside his brain. His hands trembled as he gripped a tighter hold of the wheel, and not for the first time he wished he hadn't used the rest of his cocaine to keep himself awake and alert for the long trip cross country.

A deep frown furrowed Drake's brow as he pulled up to the address Missouri had given him and noted the sign in the small front yard. "Oh, for the love of God, I drove all this way to see a damn psychic?" he growled in frustration as he raked his fingers through his hair.

Disappointment and anger momentarily overshadowing his need for a fix, he slid out of the car and slammed the door shut. "I should've known better than to think Sam would find the answers from a normal person," he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head as he trudged up the steps to her door.

He lifted a hand to knock on the door, but before he could even curl his hand into a fist, it opened and a heavy, dark-skinned woman with compassionate brown eyes stood appraising him. "Yer the boy who called me yesterday, aren't ya?"

With a roll of his eyes and a curt nod, Drake plastered a smile on his face. "I'm Drake – but seeing that you're psychic an' all, you probably already knew that right?"

"No," she smiled politely undeterred by the sarcasm in his tone, "I had no clue what yer name was but I do know you're a firefighter and ya stole that car out there," she gestured to the Impala, "from a boy name Sam Winchester."

Drake's gaze ticked to the lower portion of the tattoo on his bicep peeking out from beneath his t-shirt, and then looked back to her. "If that's the best psychic mojo you've got," he hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the Impala, "I think I'll call psychic network on my way back home. An' maybe if I'm real lucky I'll get to talk to some chick named Moonbeam who'll tell me I'm going to win the lottery next Tuesday."

"Or maybe you could just drive back by that house ya saw that's weighin' so heavily on yer mind," she responded, folding her arms over her chest as Drake's jaw dropped wide open.

"H-How did you . . . you couldn't've . . . ." Drake's voice trailed off as he stared wide-eyed at her.

"Close your trap before ya swallow a whole heapin' mouthful of flies." Taking a hold of his arm, she guided him inside, shut the door, and showed him into the living room. She motioned for him to take a seat on the couch, and without a word he complied. "Boy, you put your feet up on my table and I'll whack you with a spoon."

"I didn't do anything," Drake uttered, splaying out his arms.

"But you were thinking about it," she said, and then narrowed her eyes on him. "Ya know for some damn reason that felt real familiar, but for the life of me I can't figure out why."

Dragging a hand across his face, Drake heaved a weary sigh. "Well, you're the psychic here, so don't look to me for the answers."

With a shake of her head, Missouri took a seat in an armchair and folded her hands on her lap. For several long moments she studied Drake, and then pursing her lips, she uttered, "I'm just not getting a clear read on you, Drake, an' that's never happened to me before."

"Maybe that's because I'm complicated." With a roll of his eyes, Drake smirked, still finding it hard to believe he was actually listening to a psychic.

"Hmmm . . . ." Leaning forward in her chair, she looked him dead in the eye, and his stomach flip-flopped as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat at such close scrutiny. "No, you're more like puzzle pieces all spread across the table, but no matter how hard I try I can't put them together to form one true picture. The pieces don't fit an' it almost seems like someone threw two completely different puzzles together."

Averting his gaze, he pretended to study the pattern in her worn Persian rug. "I didn't come here to find out about myself."

"No, you came to find out the truth," she uttered with a breathy sigh as she took to her feet once more, "but right now I'm more interested in this house you can't seem to shake from your mind. So let's go."

"It was just a stupid house," Drake said, watching her as she made her way to the front door. "I don't wanna go back there."

"Boy, I said we're going to see that house, so get your butt up off my couch, an' get movin'."

"You didn't happen to work in a mental institution at some point, did you?" Drake grumbled as he reluctantly pushed himself up from the couch, and fell in line behind her as she headed outside to Sam's car. "'Cause you so remind me of this one nurse that was always barking out orders . . . an' I don't mind saying she scared me a little – so maybe you're related or something."

With a stern look and a huff, Missouri climbed inside the Impala and waited for Drake to follow suit. Once he was situated in his seat, and they were driving toward the house, she shifted to look him over. With a shake of her head, she clucked her tongue several times. "Boy, you don't make any sense to me at all – it's almost like you weren't meant to be here, but yet you are."

"Well, I don't really like traveling, so if we could've done this –"

"I don't mean you coming to Kansas," she cut him off with a huff, "your mother – she wasn't supposed to have any more kids after your brother."

With a heavy sigh, Drake cast a glance in the older woman's direction before returning his sights to the road. "My mom had a real tough time giving birth to my brother, an' the doctors told her she would never be able to have any more kids . . . I was born seven years later, if that's what you mean."

Missouri tentatively held out a hand and placed it on his arm then with a sudden sharp breath she yanked it away. "Your soul – it's been touched by both a truly powerful good and an equally powerful evil . . . it's no wonder you're searching for the truth."

"And what is the truth?" Drake asked as he pressed on the brake, slowing the vehicle to make a right hand turn, and then pulled up alongside the curb to show Missouri the house that had rattled him.

Missouri remained silent as she ducked her head to the side to look around Drake at the seemingly harmless two-story home. "The Winchester home?" she breathed, eyes widening as she glanced back at Drake.

"This was Sam's house?" Drake swallowed hard, fear creeping up inside of him, and he shivered as a sudden chill once again raced down his spine. _I remember the fire . . . the heat . . . an' then I carried you out the front door. _"W-Was there a fire here?" he asked as he pointed toward the upstairs bedroom, "In that room?" Holding his breath, he looked back at her, and waited until he saw her nod. "How do I know that?"

"I dunno." She shrugged, and for a psychic she seemed at a complete loss for the answers he was searching for. "Let's go find out."

"Huh?" Eyes growing as large as saucers, he shook his head. "I wasn't . . . I don't wanna – people live there, we can't just barge in there."

"Sure we can." She gave him a shove when he failed to open his car door, and reluctantly he complied with her order. "I know the Coopers. They had a problem a few years ago back, and Sam came back here to help them out with it."

"What kind of problem?" Halfway through the yard, Drake paused and glanced up at the window, once again envisioning a fiery explosion blowing out the glass. Fingers tingling, he glanced down at them, and then looked back up at the corner of the home.

"A poltergeist," she responded matter-of-factly as if Drake wouldn't think she was completely out of her mind, "and there was another presence as well."

"Well, of course there was." Drake rolled his eyes as he made his way up to the doorway. "Was it a Wendigo by any chance?"

"No, don't be stupid, boy," swatting him on the arm, she went on to say, "it turned out to be his mother. She sacrificed herself for him."

"And where was Dean when all of this happened?"

"Dean?" she narrowed brown eyes on him, and with pursed lips, shook her head. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Sam's brother Dean," Drake snapped in irritation as he pressed his eyelids closed and rubbed at his temples. "The brother everyone but Sam seems to have forgotten about."

"Hmmm . . . ." Missouri lightly grasped hold of his hand again. "What else did Sam tell you about his brother?"

"Just that he saved a lot of peoples' lives an' that he was gone an' was never coming back."

"And that makes you really angry with him, doesn't it?"

"Yeah – I mean no." With a groan, he shrugged free of her grasp and knocked on the door. "Why should I care if he wants to find his brother or not?"

Missouri opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut as the door opened. A pretty, blond-haired woman stood at the threshold, and Drake couldn't help but notice the tentative smile she cast in the psychic's direction. "Missouri, what are you doing here?" She looked back over her shoulder toward the inside of her house. "Is there something wrong – it's not back is it?"

"No, Jenny, your house is still quiet," Missouri quickly assured, patting the woman on the arm, and then bobbed her head toward Drake, "This is Drake – he feels some sort of connection to this place, an' we're trying to figure out why."

"A connection to my house?" Jenny uttered as she stepped out onto the landing and shifted to look at Drake. "Did you live here at one time?"

"No. I'm not from around here." Uncomfortable at the thought of barging into Jenny's home, Drake shuffled his feet as he looked around her and peered inside the front door. "I didn't wanna come here, but it was her idea," he jerked a thumb in the psychic's direction.

"Boy, you need to stop flappin' your jaws and go inside." Without giving him a chance to argue further, she pushed him forward. "I'm just going to talk to Jenny for a few minutes, so take a look around to get a feel for the place."

Drake swallowed hard as the door closed behind him trapping him inside Sam's old home. His footsteps sounded loud against the hard wood floors, and he fought the urge to slide them along the smooth surface to stifle the noise. He worked his way toward the kitchen, and cursed when he found more hardwood flooring in there.

In the center of the room, he pivoted around on his heel, and as he already knew would be the case, nothing looked even remotely familiar. _This is such a waste of time. _He turned to leave the room and stopped abruptly when a cold chilled raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"I made you a sandwich," came a softly whispered against his ear, and heart in his throat he swung back around.

His eyes darted back and forth, searching for the person who had spoken but the room was empty. "I am completely losing it."

With a shake of his head, he trudged from the kitchen, and headed toward the stairs. From above he could hear music playing, and talked himself into believing the voice he'd in the kitchen came from the radio. When he came to the last step, he paused at the upstairs landing and flipped on the light switch.

The music was coming from the room where he'd envisioned the fire, and steeling his nerves, he proceeded toward it, glancing in the other rooms as he walked past them. A little boy who couldn't have been more than seven years old was sitting on the floor in the bedroom playing with truck and cars. He watched the boy for a few moments, and then biting pensively at his lower lip, he glanced up at the whitewashed ceiling. Abruptly before his eyes, it burst into flames, the heat searing at his face as he buried his head in his arms.

"What are ya doin'?" the little dark-haired boy asked, and pulling his hands away from his face, Drake looked up again and the fire was gone.

"I-I was . . . ." his voice trailed. Looking from the grinning boy to the ceiling and back again, he scratched at the back of his head. "Did you just see that?" he pointed toward the white crisscrossing beams in the ceiling.

The boy's head dropped backward onto his shoulders, and he looked at the ceiling before shaking his head. "Nope." He smiled at Drake. "Wanna play firefighters with me?" he asked holding up two toy fire engines.

"Umm . . . sure." Keeping his sights locked on the little dark-haired boy, he walked across the room, took a seat on the floor, and picked up one of the fire trucks. "Back where I live, I'm a firefighter," he said, racing the truck along the floor toward a row of toy houses the boy had set up, "It's the coolest job in the whole world."

"No, yer not a firefighter." He adamantly shook his head. "Yer the one who kills the bad things. Makes 'em go away so's we can stay."

"Huh?" Drake furrowed his brow in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

The boy opened his mouth to say more but snapped it shut as a girl's voice came from behind Drake. "Richie, how many times . . . ." her voice suddenly trailed off as Drake shifted in his seat and saw a young brown-haired girl who looked to be about twelve or thirteen leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes grew large as she looked from Drake to the closet door and back again. "They're not back, are they?"

Drake followed her gaze back to the closed closet door. "Who's not back?" he uttered, and then remembering what Missouri said about the poltergeist, he shook his head. "No, they aren't back."

Her eyes narrowed on him for several long moments before she finally nodded and let out a sigh of relief. "You look different than the last time," she cocked her head to the side to study him as she made a circular gesture with her hand around his face, "your hair is longer now than it was before – it makes you look a lot younger."

Drake looked back and forth between Richie and girl, and noticed the little boy nodding enthusiastically in agreement with his sister. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Her brows knitted together as she studied Drake once more. "You're Dean, right?" She looked to her brother who was still bobbing his head while smiling toothily at Drake. "You an' your brother saved us from the thing that was in our house."

"I-I'm Dra – " Hearing Sam's voice inside his head, Drake's voice abruptly trailed off.

_I did find him._ He had said when they were in the hospital together while he looked Drake squarely in the eyes. _I looked him right dead in the eyes and there was nothing._

Stomach heaving violently, cold sweat prickled at the nape of Drake's neck as Missouri's voice rang in his ears. _No, you're more like puzzle pieces all spread across the table, but no matter how hard I try I can't put them together to form one true picture. The pieces don't fit an' it almost seems like someone threw two completely different puzzles together._

"No, I'm Drake," he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief.

_No, only my brother gets to call me Sammy – an' even if I ever did allow someone else to call me that, it would never be you._

_And why's that, Sammy? _

_Because I can't stomach the sight of you._

Drake's legs trembled as he braced his hands against the floor and pushed himself to his feet.

_What the hell are you doing, Drake?_ Drake recalled the older version of himself that he had believed at the time to be a hallucination. _Sammy needs you, an' you were so damn close . . . then you just gave in."_

_Wh-who are you? _

_I guess I'm you . . . or sort of anyways – not really sure how this all works, so I can't really say for certain – I'll have to ask Cas about it._

_I'm hallucinating, aren't I? I am, and now I'm asking myself who's sitting beside me if I'm hallucinating . . . damn, I'm so screwed._

_I need you to take care of Sammy for me, an' you can't do that if you're always stoned off your ass. _

_Am I ever going to find out what happened to Dean? _

_Deep down, you already know what happened to him. It'll come to you in time . . . or maybe Sammy will tell you if he ever gets his head out of his ass, and comes clean with everything._

_Why can't you just tell me?_

_I wish to hell I could, but I can't. God, I always loved this car, so you'd better make damn sure Sammy takes care of her._

"Oh, God . . . no, I-I can't be . . . ." swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Drake clutched tightly to Dean's amulet.

_I want you to take good care of this, it meant so much to me – and take care of Sammy, he means everything to me – make sure he knows that._

Tears stung at his eyes, blurring his vision. _If Sam thinks I stole his brother from him . . . God, it's no wonder he hates me so much. _

Feeling as if the air was being forcefully sucked from his lungs, Drake pushed past the young girl, and staggered out into the hallway.

"Don't go, Dean," Richie called out to him, and the sound of the little boy's feet slapping against the hardwood floors followed him as he stumbled down the stairs. "we haven't finished playin' yet."

"I'm not Dean!" he hoarsely shouted back over his shoulder, "I'm Dr-Drake . . . Dean's gone an' he's never coming back."


	22. Chapter 22

Hey all, thanks for reading and for all the really encouraging comments. I really appreciate them more than anyone could know. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

Drake flew out the front door nearly knocking over Missouri and Jenny in his need to get away from Sam's old home as quickly as possible. Missouri hurried after him, and luckily made it to the Impala before he had a chance to drive away or he would have left her there. In his mind this was all her fault. He hadn't wanted to come back to the house, but she hadn't given him a choice. All he wanted to do was learn if what he read in the journal was the truth.

_Kids lie – they do it all the time. _He raked a hand through his hair as he struggled to find a reason why Jenny's kids would lie to him about Dean. _I'm not Dean. Sam's definitely not my brother. Jake is. _

He could feel the weight of Missouri's eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. She didn't remind him of the type of person to remain silent if something was on her mind, but there she sat silent as a stone – silent as someone searching for the way to tell someone they stole someone else's life. _No, Bear's my best friend. I've known him since kindergarten. I graduated from Naples Senior High school. I've been a firefighter since the day I turned eighteen . . . that's my life, not Dean's. Those kids are wrong – they have to be wrong._

Tears blurred his vision, and his hands trembled so badly he had trouble keeping on the right side of the road, but he knew if he stopped the questions would start, and at the moment having an accident seemed the lesser of two evils. _If I was Dean, I would have to know something about his life. Right? _

So caught up in his thoughts, Drake almost bypassed Missouri's home, and hurriedly slammed on the brakes and pulled off onto the curb. "Get out," he ordered, and when she failed to move, he reached around her and flung the door open. "I said get out of my car. Now!"

"Your car?" Raising a brow, Missouri stayed stubbornly rooted to her spot. "Boy, I don't know what happened inside of that house, but I can see some of those puzzle pieces fallin' into place now."

"I don't care about any damn puzzle pieces," Drake snapped, tempted to push her out of the car. "I just want you out of my car so I can leave this goddamn state an' go back home."

"You came here searchin' for the truth, an' I told ya on the phone most people don't wanna know the truth of things."

I came to you to learn about hunters and if the things in Sam's journal were real . . . I didn't come here to listen to little kids lying about . . . just get out of the car."

"Lying about what?" Missouri asked, although Drake had the distinct impression she already knew the answer but was waiting for him to admit it aloud. "Whatever they did – however they managed it, it's not your fault, Drake." Her voice turned sympathetic, and his stomach clenched.

"No, it's can't be my fault because it's not even true," Drake vehemently argued, hearing the acceptance in her tone that he was in fact Dean and not Drake. "I'm Drake Marlowe, born and raised in Naples, New York – I'm not . . . I don't need to explain anything to you so get out!"

Folding her arms across her chest, she eyed Drake for a moment, and then with a huff she asked, "So what are you going to do about Sam then?"

"I'm done with Sam and his whole screwed up family." Drake raked his hands through his hair in utter frustration. No matter what he said, she wasn't going to let him go without admitting he was Dean. And he would never do that. "I don't care about him, his father . . . Wendigos or that damn journal. So you have three seconds to get the hell out of this car or I'm gonna push you out on your ass – an' if you don't think I'll do it, just try me."

For what seemed an eternity she sat there staring at him, and unable to withstand the look of pity in her brown eyes, he lowered his head. "Alright, Drake, I'll go." She gave a curt nod then shifted to slide out of the car, but then looked back to him. "But in answer to your question – the things you read about in John's journal are real . . . they're just as real as both Drake and Dean are – even if Drake and Dean happen to be the same person."

"There is no Dean. Dean died or he went away or whatever – he's gone." Squeezing his eyelids shut, Drake ground away the moisture gathering at his eyelashes with the heels of his hands. "I'm Drake. Got that? I'm DRAKE!"

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"Lawrence, Kansas?" Sam stared incredulously at Castiel. "You knew he would go there to find out the truth, and you just let him leave?"

Hands in the pockets of his trench coat, the angel shrugged. "He has the right to know and since you weren't going to tell him, Kansas was the logical solution to the problem."

"And when he does find out, what the hell do you think he's going to do?" The urge to beat the hell out of the angel for allowing Drake to leave nearly overwhelmed Sam and it took every bit of self control he possessed not to follow through with his thoughts. His fingers curled into tight fists as he turned to look at his father. "We have to go to Kansas."

"Sam, the demons aren't in Kansas," John argued, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder at the inn, "they're here and that means our job is here."

"No." Shaking his head, Sam pursed his lips. "My job is protecting Drake – He's my brother and he doesn't know the first damn thing about hunting demons. So if you're too freakin' blind to see that he's family then you stay here and make damn sure everyone else is safe, but I'm going after my lil' brother."

"We've already been over this, Sam, you don't have a brother." John pushed away from where he was leaning against the car, and moved to stand toe to toe with Sam. "But from what I can see, these demons are after anyone he knows and cares about, so if you really want to help him then you'll stay here with me an' fight the bastards."

"I don't have a brother, huh?" Sam eyed his dad for a moment, and scowled as John shook his head. "Then what about Adam, dad? Is he not my brother either?"

John's eyes widened with momentary shock, but then he schooled his features. "How do you know about him?"

"Because I met him – or I should say I met the ghoul who killed him and took his place . . . ." Sam's voice trailed, and seeing the broken expression clearly etched in John's brown eyes, he cursed under his breath and lowered his head. "He died, Dad . . . Dean and I were too late to save him or his mother."

Rubbing at the moisture glistening in his eyes, John then scrubbed a hand across his haggard face. "I'd screwed up so bad with you an' . . . I thought if Adam had normal life – it didn't even matter did it? Just by being my son he was totally fucked right from the start . . . God, if I had known they'd come back for Kate and Adam – I really thought I'd killed them all."

"I'm so sorry, dad," Sam breathed, wrapping his arms around him, and cursed again at his stupidity as he felt his father trembling within his embrace. "You did your best to keep us all safe." After several long moments, he pulled back and looked his father in the eyes. "But with everything we know – with everything we've learned along the way, how can you not even consider the possibility that they took your son Dean from you, ripped out his soul and put it into someone else's body? Tell me that he doesn't feel really familiar to you like you've met him before somewhere but just can't place where?"

John looked from Sam to Castiel and then back again before he gave a curt nod. "I do feel some sort of connection to him, but what you're saying is impossible. I may be a real bastard a helluva lot of time, and I'm definitely not ever going to win any Father of the Year awards, but I'd never forget my own son."

"You didn't," Sam responded with a shake of his head, "you felt the connection even with everything Michael and Lucifer did to make everyone forget Dean, so somewhere deep down you know what I'm saying is true."

"John," Castiel finally spoke up, drawing both Sam's and John's eyes to him, "Sam's telling you the truth. Drake's soul belonged to your son Dean – and if you don't find him before the demons do they will kill him."

John was silent for what seemed the longest time as took turns looking at Sam and then Castiel, and then he turned his back on both of them. "If that's true, how do I get my son back? How do I get Dean back?"

"Unfortunately, you can't," Castiel responded as he glanced at Sam, and with a shake of his head he once again reinforced that fact that Dean was gone forever. "But that doesn't make Drake's any less of a son to you than Dean was – he is Dean, and he needs you both."

John swung back abruptly to glare at the angel. "He's not any less of a son to me?" His scowl deepened as he stalked the distance to Castiel, gripped hold of his coat, and yanked him forward. "I don't even know him – I didn't raise him . . . he has a real life – a father and mother, and you're trying to tell me he is still my son. He's better off where he is and I won't take that from him even if he is my son."

"You won't have to, dad, Sam interjected, "Lucifer will."

The anger and fight left John at Sam's words, and with shoulders sagging he released his hold on the angel. "Sam get in the truck, we're going after Drake."

SNSNSNSNSN

Drake's grip around the steering wheel tightened as tremors racked his body. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down the sides of his face and into the corners of his eyes. His drenched t-shirt clung to him, and he shivered despite the heater being on full blast. Acrid bile rising in his throat, he hastily swerved off to the shoulder of the road, and had scarcely flung open the door before retching all over himself.

Pushing himself out of the car, he staggered into the grass and dropped to his knees. Vision blurring, he doubled over, clutched his stomach and heaved again and again until there was nothing left in him to throw up.

He should have never stopped. He should have kept going, but when he'd spotted the man dealing to a younger kid on the way out of Lawrence, he couldn't pass him by. The dark-eyed man had promised him a high he'd never forget as long as he lived, and then had laughed. At the time Drake hadn't cared how ominous that had sounded, all he wanted to do was forget about the thought of facing Sam again, but now he feared he would never see him again.

He pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and rubbed at the mark left behind by the needle he'd used to inject whatever it was the curly haired man had given him. He'd always made a point never to use needles, they left marks and marks raised questions.

His stomach tightened and cramped again, and curling inward, he gagged until his throat burned with the force of the dry heaves, but after stopping no less than five times since he'd driven away from Lawrence, his stomach was completely empty. Fumbling in his pants pocket, he yanked out his phone, and jabbed at the button to call Bear. _Please, Bear, just answer the damn phone. _

The phone rang five times, and just as Drake was beginning to think his friend wouldn't answer Bear's voice came on over the line. "What do you want, Drake?"

"I sc-screwed up," Drake stammered, biting at his lower lip to keep from crying out as stark pain coiled in his gut again. "Mm'sorry fer everythin' . . . ."

"Where are you, Drake?" he asked, the anger leaving his voice to be replaced by concern. "Talk to me, lil' man, tell me where you are an' what you took."

"D-dunno." Lifting his head, Drake glanced around, but nothing looked even remotely familiar. "Mm'musta took a wron' turn somewhere – mm'afraid, B-bear."

"Look, I'm on my way – I'll find you. Okay, so you just hang on for me. Got that?"

Another cry abruptly erupted from deep within Drake's throat as pain knifed through him, and dropping the phone, he curled up in a tight ball. Holding his breath for several seconds, he slowly released it, and drew in another sharp breath through his nose as he worked through the pain. When it finally subsided to a dull throbbing ache, he groped through the grass for his phone, and heard his best friend calling out his name over and over again.

"Mm'here," he uttered in a hoarse raspy whisper. "Kansas . . . not N-New York."

"You're in Kansas?" Bear's voice raised several octaves in panic. "Drake, what the hell are you doing there?"

Swallowing hard, he tasted blood in the back of his throat. "Th-think mm'dyin'."

"No, you're not," came a familiar voice, and squinting his eyes, Drake looked up at the man Sam had called Castiel standing beside him. "Although that was the intent," he added as he crouched and picked Drake up off the ground. "The thing that sold you that drug was a demon – and I'm, well, at the moment, I'd have to say I'm your own personal Savior."


	23. Chapter 23

Thanks for reading everyone and for all the great comments. hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

A groan escaped Drake as he pried his eyes open one at a time, and then with another heavier groan, pressed them closed. The last thing he remembered he was laying beside the road near a ditch, talking to Bear on his cell phone, and now from what he could tell, he was in a lumpy bed somewhere. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he tried to recall how he had managed to drive Sam's car to wherever he was staying, but nothing came to mind.

"You're awake," a familiar voice called out to him.

Startled from his thoughts, Drake bolted upright in bed, and instantly regretted it as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. Swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat, he glanced around the room until his gaze fell upon Castiel. "Where am I?"

"In a motel." The older man leaned forward in his seat, and clasping his hands together, rested his elbows on his knees. "Sam should be here soon."

"Sam's coming here?" Drake's heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach. There was no way he could face the older man after what Jenny's kids told him even if it wasn't true. Sam no doubt thought it was the truth as he believed in all sorts of crazy things, and it was the reason he'd hated him so much.

"He called not long ago, and said he would be here within twenty minutes."

"That's just freakin' great." Drake forced a smile as he snatched his boots off the ground and tugged them on. "Tell him I'm sorry I missed him when he gets here." Pushing to his feet, he took a moment to gain his balance, and then headed for the door, but stopped abruptly when Castiel appeared in front of it with his arms folded across his chest. "What the – " he twisted his head to look back at the chair Castiel had been sitting in and then looked back at him. "How the hell did you do that?"

"I'm an Angel of the Lord," he replied without even a hint of a grin to show he was joking.

"Y-you're a what?" Drake asked thinking he'd somehow misheard or misunderstood him.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord," Castiel repeated in the same monotone voice.

"Right." Drake nodded, slowly backing away from the obviously deranged man. "And I guess that would make Sam God then?"

"No, he's Lucifer's vessel."

With a roll of his eyes, Drake responded sarcastically, "Well, of course he is. I should've seen that one coming a mile away."

"This must be hard for you to understand." Castiel followed as Drake backed further away from him.

"No, I get it," Drake shook his head, "you're all buckets of nuts, and you're trying to get me right on board that crazy train before it leaves the station." Bumping into the edge of the bed, Drake cursed under his breath. "I'll have to give it to you all though, having those kids try to tell me I am Sam's brother was ingenious – an' I might have believed it to if I were out of my mind like you all are."

"If deep down you didn't know it was true," Castiel gestured toward the leather necklace around Drake's neck, "why didn't you give Sam Dean's amulet back?" He lifted a brow as if to say, ha, got you there. "You didn't show it to him because you knew he would take it from you, and since it belongs to you, you didn't want to lose it again."

"So I like the damn necklace that proves nothing." Sliding his way along the edge of the bed, he slowly crept toward the bathroom. If he was real lucky, there might be a window in there he could escape through. "I'm Drake Marlowe – Not Dean Winchester. I have a driver's license to prove it, and if that's not enough for you, I can line up at least a hundred people who'd be willing swear they've known me practically all my life. And the best you can do is to tell me I'm Dean because I'm wearing his amulet – sorry I'm just not buying it."

"There's no window in the bathroom," Castiel responded, ignoring Drake's attempts to prove him wrong. "And it's too late anyhow. Sam and John are here." The words had scarcely left his mouth and a knock came at the door.

"How did you – " Rubbing at his eyes, Drake then raked a hand through his disheveled hair, "never mind. Just let them in and I'll tell them the same thing I'm telling you. Then I'm going home."

Without moving away from Drake, Castiel waved his hand and the door swung open. Drake turned his back on the three of them, and drew in several deep breaths in an attempt to calm his jittering nerves. The weight of Sam's eyes on him was almost more than he could bear, but he steeled himself against the feeling of guilt clenching in his chest. "You can't keep me here, Sam," he muttered without glancing back at any of them. "I'm going home to my family, and I don't ever want to see you again."

"You don't mean that, Drake."

"Yeah, I do, Sammy." Tears stinging at his eyes, he slowly pivoted on his heel to look at Sam. "I'm sorry your brother died, but that has nothing to do with me or my life." Unable to withstand the pained look in the older man's hazel eyes, he bowed his head. "He'd dead, Sam. You may not want to believe it, but he's dead and he's not coming back. So you and your family need to go away and leave me the hell alone."

"I can't do that." Pressing his lips together, Sam shook his head. "You almost died, Drake. If Castiel hadn't found you when he did, you'd be dead right now – and they won't stop until you are. So there's no way I'm leaving."

"I'm not Dean," he uttered, praying for all he was worth that it would be enough to make Sam come to his senses and realize how ridiculous and impossible it was that he was his brother, and then looked to John to help him confirm it, but the older man lowered his head as if ashamed of himself for some reason, and walked out of the room with Castiel following after him. "I'm not your brother."

"I know," Sam said after a long pause, "because my brother wouldn't be stupid enough to get stoned off his ass all the time instead of facing things like a man. You're a coward, Drake, and I'm sure as hell glad you're no brother of mine."

Drake flinched as Sam threw his own words back in his face. "You don't know anything about me, Sam, so you can just shut the hell up!"

"I've learned enough about you to know that I don't really want to get to know you any better."

Feeling as if Sam had just sucker punched him in the gut, Drake struggled to take in an even breath. He'd been right. Sam did hate him, and if what Jenny's kids said to him was true, how could he blame him? "You don't mean that or you wouldn't be here right now."

"Yeah, I would – you're just a job to me, Drake . . . just another stupid job, and the moment I know you're safe, I'm gone."

"You'd really leave knowing I'm . . . ." his voice trailed. Somehow Sam had managed to turn things around to where Drake was the one trying to get him to stay. "I don't need your help, Sam."

"You don't need my help? Really?" Sam let out a short sarcastic laugh. "How do you plan on getting home?"

Drake cursed under his breath. He'd spent the last of the money he had taken from his dad to get high and had planned on using Sam's fake credit cards to pay for gas and food for the trip home. Now with Sam here, he was without a car or money to get home. "I'll hitchhike."

"No, you won't."

"I wanna go home, Sammy."

Sam's stomach clenched hearing the desperation in Drake's voice. He looked his little brother up and down, and noticed how haggard he appeared. He looked thinner, and dark smudges rimmed his glassy green eyes. And although he tried to hide it, he was trembling. Drake knew he had Dean's soul and he was terrified, and in turn Sam was feeling exactly the same way. If Sam were Dean he would know exactly the right words to say to make Drake understand how much danger he was in. Dean would also know how to be the big brother Drake needed – he would know how to deal with his addiction to drugs, and could teach him to be a hunter.

"Then let me take you home."

"I can't let you do that, Sammy."

"What if I let you take the Impala, and I'll follow behind with my dad?" Sam offered although he highly doubted Drake would take him up on his offer. Drake, unlike Dean, seemed immune to the pleading looks he could give to get his way.

"How about you pay so I can take a bus, and I'll send you money when I get home?"

"Not a chance in hell." Pursing his lips, Sam shook his head.

"Then like I said before, I'll hitchhike."

"You won't even make it out the door," Sam warned, taking a step toward him, done with giving Drake a chance to be reasonable.

"What are you going to do, Sammy? Tie me up?" Drake scoffed, pushing past him, but didn't even make it a few feet before Sam gripped hold of his arm and flung him around.

"I was thinking more along the lines of handcuffs." The words had scarcely left Sam's mouth and Drake felt cold metal snapping around his wrist. Twisting Drake's arm behind his back, Sam grabbed hold of his other arm, and snapped the cuff in place. "See, I figured you'd be a pain in the ass about this so I came prepared."

"Kinky, Sam, but you're definitely not my type." Ducking forward, Drake threw back his head, slamming it into Sam's face, knocking him backwards onto the bed. Although he knew it was useless, no one would pick up a hitchhiker in handcuffs, he still made a run for the door.

Sam scrambled to his feet, lunged across the room, and slammed him into the door before he managed to get it even partially open. Bracing his forearm against Drake's neck, he leaned in and hissed, "You know I could just throw you in the trunk of the Impala – and right now I'm thinking that option is more preferable than having you ride up front the whole way back to New York."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, yeah I would."

"I'll ride with your father or Castiel, but I'm not going anywhere with you."

"You stopped having a choice in the matter about two minutes ago." Sam knew he was being intentionally cruel, but he'd had enough. It didn't matter if Drake had Dean's soul, he still could go on living his life however he wanted to, but without Dean Sam was lost. Yet for as big of a pain in the ass as he was being, the young firefighter acted as if he were the injured party – as if he'd lost something in the taking of Dean's soul. He still had his family, his friends, his life. Any problems he had had been of his own making. "You're driving back with me, and then together we're going to figure things out. Understand?"

"Fine." Drake narrowed his eyes. "I'll drive back with you, but as far as figuring things out – there's nothing to figure out. I hate you – you hate me, so I don't see what more we have to discuss."

"Alright," Sam gritted out, forcing a smile to hide the pain clenching in his heart, "how about discussing how we're going to keep your family and friends from being killed by Lucifer and all the other demons gunning to take them down because they know you. Would you rather talk about that?"

Fists clenching, Drake glared at Sam for several long moments, all-the-while wishing his hands were free so he could slam them into the older man's face. "Let's go. The sooner I'm home the sooner I can be rid of you and your fucked up family."

"That's fine with me." Sam pushed him aside, flung open the door, dragged him out of the motel and practically threw him into the backseat of the Impala. As he swung to head toward the driver's side, he noticed his father and Castiel leaning against his father's truck. "I'm taking him home, and then he's on his own from there."

"Sam, we can't leave him alone," Castiel spoke up first, pushed away from the vehicle to walk toward Sam, but Sam held up a hand to stop him.

"I've tried, Cas. God only knows how hard I've tried, but my brother's gone – he's not coming back. So let Michael use Drake as his meatsuit, I really don't care anymore."

"You don't mean that."

"Yeah, I do."

"Sam," John stepped around Castiel, and strode to Sam's side, "he's your little brother and you're to look out for him and make sure nothing happens to him," he ordered in the same commanding tone he'd always used on Dean when he'd left Sam in his care. "Do I make myself clear?"

Sam looked from his father to Drake and then back again, gut wrenching with final understanding of how it felt to be Dean, to feel the weight and burden of responsibility for someone who had no idea how to take care of themselves in the face of danger. Although the more he thought about it his situation couldn't even begin to compare with Dean's. Dean had taken on the responsibility of Sam when they were both little kids; he'd been forced to grow up faster than anyone should ever have to, and even if he complained from time to time he never shirked his duty. Sam wasn't so sure he had it within himself to do the same. "Yes, sir," he grudgingly responded, and without waiting for another command, he got in his car, and slammed the door shut.

For several hours, or what seemed like several hours anyways, they drove in near silence, the only sounds coming from the radio and the rumble of the engine. They'd stopped only once to gas up the Impala, and in that time, Sam had removed Drake's handcuffs and they'd both used the restroom. Sam had kept an eye on his brother nearly the whole time while John kept his sights locked on the Impala, making sure Drake didn't try to steal the car again. Back on the road, John stuck close behind them in his truck. Castiel had made some excuse to John and had left them again, but Sam didn't bother asking his father why he left. John had called once to tell him Bobby was waiting for the in Naples, and had filled him in on the wide spread electrical storm activity in and around the state of New York. Sam had thought to mention it to Drake, but figured there was no point. He wouldn't understand that it was a really bad omen, and things were quickly taking a turn for the worse if that were even possible.

"Are you hungry?" he finally asked to break the silence that had stretched out to engulf the Impala once again. "I could stop somewhere if you are."

"I'm not hungry," Drake grumbled after a long pause. "I'll wait until I get home and have my _mom_ cook me something to eat."

Sam bit down hard on his lower lip, fighting the overwhelming urge to smack the hell out of his brother for his not so subtle reminder that he had a mother. "It's a helluva long drive back to Naples, but if you want to starve until then, I'm fine with it. But since I don't have a mom, I guess I'll just have to eat in front of you."

At the very next diner he spotted, he pulled over, ran inside and ordered food to go. When he came back outside, he handed a bag to his father, and then got back inside his car. As he drove, he munched away at his hamburger, making sure to sound as if he was thoroughly enjoying it, even if it tasted way too greasy for his liking.

"Do you really have to chew so loudly, Sam?"

"Is it bothering you?"

"Yeah, actually it is."

"Then the answer's yes – I do have to chew loudly."

"Jerk."

"Bitch," Sam responded, and with those two simple words, the impact of how their roles had reversed hit home in a way nothing else could. "I'm not trying to take your brother's place, Drake."

"That's good because there's no way in hell you could." Folding his arms across his chest, Drake shifted to look out the passenger's window.

Taking several deep breaths, Sam forced a smile to his lips in an attempt to hide the anger burning him up inside. "How about being friends . . . can we at least try being friends?"

"I already told you, I have enough friends."

"Well, since my best friend was taken from me, I've decided you're going to be my new one . . . which means I might drive you crazy, but there's no way in hell you're going to get rid of me."

Drake shifted back in his seat, and their eyes locked. "I'm not Dean, Sam, and we'll never be friends or brothers – so give it up."

"You are Dean, and if it's the last thing I ever do, I'm going to make you remember who and what you are. So you'd better damn well get used to having me around because I'm not going anywhere."


	24. Chapter 24

Sorry for the short delay. Thanks for reading and for all the really great comments! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-four_

Exhausted and unwilling to allow Drake to drive, Sam pulled into the parking lot of a small, dingy looking motel, and parked the car. Drake opened his mouth to argue, but immediately snapped it shut. There was no use in complaining. Sam wouldn't listen to him. He'd already determined his word was law on any and all matters concerning the drive back to Naples, and wouldn't be swayed into changing his mind.

"I'll be right back," Sam said, pushing open the door of the Impala. Drake's gaze ticked from him to the keys dangling in the ignition, and then back again. "Nice try, but I'm taking the keys with me." Grabbing the keys, he quickly pocketed them.

John pulled into the lot a few minutes after them, and by the time Sam had returned from the office, the older man had gotten out of his vehicle and grabbed his duffel. Sam headed over to him, handed him a room key, and then walked back to the Impala. "We're in room number seven."

"I'm not sharing a room with you."

"Yeah, you are." Pressing his eyes closed, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed at it. "They only had two rooms left, and there's two double beds, so just shut up and deal with it."

"We're you always this bossy with Dean?" Drake grumbled as he got out of the car and grabbed his duffel bag.

"No, Dean never cared where we spent the night as long as he could get a hot shower and a few hours sleep."

"Sounds like you two were living the good life, Sammy." With a roll of his eyes, he brushed past Sam and headed to their room. "Sure it's not like having home cooked meals or parties at the lake with friends, but who am I to complain."

"I'm too tired to argue with you," Sam muttered, pushing Drake out the way to open the door. "You get the bed next to the wall, and I'll take the one closer to the door."

"You're so paranoid." Dropping his duffel onto the sagging floral couch, he headed to his bed, plopped down onto the mattress, and began unlacing his boots. "Do you really think I'm going to sneak off in the middle of the night?"

"I'm not worried about you sneaking out – I'm worried something might try getting in."

"What do you think is going to – " With a shake of his head, he waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind, I really don't want to know." As he slipped off his boots, he watched Sam through veiled lashes, brows pulling together in confusion when he saw the older man trailing salt across the doorway and then the window. "What's the salt supposed to do?"

"It helps keep things out," Sam replied without elaborating in any detail.

"Wouldn't a gun work better?"

"Depends on what it is and what kind of bullets you're using."

Nervously drumming his fingers on his knees, he glanced at the window, trying to peer out through the narrow gap between the gaudy orange drapes. "What kind of bullet kills a Wendigo?" he asked, and instantly regretted it when Sam pivoted on his spot to stare at him.

"How do you know about a Wendigo?"

"I found your journal," he hesitantly admitted. "So what kind of bullets?"

"Bullets don't work on a Wendigo, you have to burn it." Finished with placing the salt trails, Sam took a seat on the edge of his bed. "There was this one time when me and Dean came across one, and we used a flare gun to kill it."

Drake's eyes widened considerably. "You actually torched it with a flare gun?"

"Yeah, Dean came up with this plan to lure it away while I tried to lead its victims out of the underground shaft it lived in. It was smarter than we'd thought and followed us instead of Dean, but luckily he showed up just in time to light the damn thing up before it killed anyone else."

Silence fell between the two, and glancing around the crowded room, Drake heaved a sigh and scratched at the back of his head. "I don't like traveling, Sam . . . I actually hate it. I don't want the kind of life you live. So if you think by sticking around you'll change my mind, it's never going to happen."

"I won't have to change your mind, Drake, the things hunting your family will. They won't stop coming after everyone you care about until you stop them."

"I can't help you, Sammy." He held out both of his hands to show the older man how badly they were shaking. "I-I can't even fight fires or help rescue people . . . my own father stopped believing in me a long time ago," he drew in a shaky breath, "I'll just end up getting you killed."

"I know what it's like to be addicted to something – the constant craving . . . the incredible high." Lowering his head, Sam fell silent for a few moments, before he went on to add, "I know it makes you feel invincible, but it's a lie, and you can fight it, Drake. If you'd let me, I could help."

He opened his mouth to say he needed help, but the words wouldn't come. With a muttered curse, he scrubbed a hand across his face, pushed himself to his feet, teetering slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"Alright," Sam nodded as he rose to his feet, "I'll go get us something to eat from the diner across the street."

"I'm not hungry."

"Drake, you've got to eat something or you're going to make yourself sick."

"If I say I'm not hungry, it means I'm not hungry," Drake replied, unwilling to give in on the matter no matter if his stomach was rumbling painfully or if he was feeling dizzy and lightheaded.

"When's the last time you actually ate anything?" He came to stand toe to toe with Drake, and looked him squarely in the eyes. "And I want the truth."

Biting at his lower lip, Drake thought back, but the only thing he could recall eating in the last few days was a half a bag of chips he'd gotten at a gas station. "I stopped at a diner and had two loaded double cheeseburgers, fries, Italian wedding soup and a huge slice of blueberry pie."

"Even if that's true, which I seriously doubt, it had to be well over a day ago. So I'm getting you something to eat."

"You can do whatever the hell you want, Sam, but unless you plan on shoving it down my throat, you're wasting your money."

"Why are you being purposefully difficult?" Sam's eye's rounded, taking on a sad puppy-dog like quality, and Drake almost relented, until he realized it was how he probably got Dean to do whatever he wanted him to do.

"Because I can see what you're trying to do, Sammy, but it's not going to work."

"What am I trying to do?" He spread his arms out to the sides, shrugging innocently. "It's just dinner, Drake, it's not like I'm asking you to go out hunting demons with me."

"I'm taking a shower then going to bed," Drake responded, turned his back on Sam, and headed into the bathroom, unwilling to argue the matter any further.

Sam stood staring blankly at the closed bathroom door for what seemed the longest time after Drake disappeared behind it. He'd really thought they were making a little progress when Drake seemed interested in learning how to kill a Wendigo, but the younger man quickly dashed any hope he might have had.

_He has to be hungry, but even if I get him something to eat, he'll refuse to eat it. If Dean was here instead of me, he would've figured out how to get him to eat. _

With a heavy sigh, he headed out to get dinner, but stopped at his father's room first to see if he was hungry. "I'm going across the street for dinner, do you want anything?"

John ducked his head out the door, and glanced toward the room Sam was sharing with Drake. "Where's Drake?"

"He's taking a shower." Bracing himself, Sam waited for what would normally be a speech reserved for Dean, but was now his lot in life.

"You shouldn't be leaving him alone – he already stole your car once, so what makes sure he won't try leaving again?"

"Because I have the keys." Yanking the keys out of his pocket, he jingled them in front of his father's face. "And there are enough windows in the diner I can watch the room from – if he tries to leave, he won't get far."

With another tentative glance at room seven, John asked, "Does he even know how to protect himself if something came after him?"

"I'm not sure what he knows, Dad. He says he hunts, but I doubt he's ever hunted anything that was trying to kill him."

Leaning against the doorframe, John let out a weary sigh. "How can you be so sure he's your brother when I don't even remember him? Not one single memory, Sam – how could they take that all away from me?"

"I don't know."

"Haven't we been through and lost enough?"

"He's not really gone we just have to make him remember who he is."

"How can I do that when I don't even know who Dean is?" Scrubbing a hand through his beard, he went on to further add, "I don't have memories of him growing up or know what kind of person he was, so how the hell am I supposed to convince him he belongs with us and not them?"

"He doesn't belong with us – not anymore anyways, but he doesn't have a choice in the matter."

"So when this is all over are you're just planning on letting him go back to his new life?"

"If that's what he wants." Tears stinging at his eyes, Sam bowed his head. "I should go get dinner . . . I'll bring you back a burger."

SNSNSNSNSN

The room was empty when Drake came out of the bathroom, but he knew Sam would be back soon, and although he loathed admitting it the thought set his mind at ease. Although Drake knew Sam would always hate him for stealing his brother's soul, at least he seemed to be making an effort not to let it show too much. He just needed to get through this one night then he'd be home and Sam would leave.

With nothing to do but wait until Sam returned, Drake flopped down on the bed, turned on the television, and flipped through the channels. Nothing caught his interest – well, nothing on t.v. anyway. His eyes kept straying to Sam's partially opened duffel bag, and the cache of weapons inside. Taking a quick glance at the door, he hopped out of bed, and made his way to the couch.

One thing he could say for Sam was he was well prepared for any motel room battle that might happen to spring up along the way. Guns. Knives. Bullets that looked to be made out of rock salt. Iron rounds. Silver rounds. Rock salt for the windows and doors. A machete. He had all his bases covered.

His fingertips touched upon a wicked looking knife, but as he was about to pick it up his cell phone rang. Grabbing it out of his jacket, he glanced at the name on the screen, and seeing Jamie's name immediately answered. "Jamie?"

"Dr-Drake, I-I need you," came her hoarse panicked voice on the other end of the line. "Th-they killed my mom and dad."

"Who did?" On his feet in a shot at the sound of her crying into the phone, Drake set to pacing, raking a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out what he should do to help her. "Listen, Jamie, just tell me where you are and I'll call Bear and Gary and have them come and get you."

"No, I only trust y-you." She drew in a staggering breath, and then went on to say, "Th-they were looking for you after you left. That tall guy started asking all these questions about where you might go and who your friends were."

"Sam?" Drake eyed the door. "Was his name Sam?"

"Yeah, I think so . . . h-he was with those two other guys – they killed my parents, Drake. Their eyes turned all black and then they just cut my mom and dad's throats right in front of me . . . ." her voice trailed as she cried even harder into the phone.

_And I guess that would make Sam God then?_

_No, he's Lucifer's vessel._

As Castiel's voice filled his head, Drake's heart skipped a beat and then set off a frantic pace, slamming hard against the wall of his chest. "Tell me where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"The old abandoned cabin on the road off of Ring Rose."

"I'm on way so just stay there, and if anyone comes I want you to hide in the storm cellar. Understand me?"

"I will just hurry, okay?"

"I'll be on the road as soon as I can."

"Drake?"

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"I love you, Drake . . . I never stopped loving you."

Drake's breath caught in his throat, knowing she wouldn't have admitted her feelings for him if she wasn't afraid she'd never see him again. "I-I never stopped loving you either." The line went dead before he could say anything else. Before he had the chance to replace his phone back in his pocket the door swung open and Sam entered carrying two brown paper bags.

"Who were you talking to?" Sam asked, nudging his head toward the phone in Drake's hand.

"No one," he lied, studying Sam's eyes closely and wondering if it was just the lighting in the room or if they really did appear darker than normal. His gaze then strayed to the bag of weapons on the couch. "Sam, that guy, the one who sold me those drugs – I could've sworn his eyes turned black for a moment . . . so what was he?"

"A demon." Setting both bags down on the table, he shifted to look at Drake. "They possess people and use them to kill other people."

"How do you kill one of them?"

"They're hard to kill, so usually we just send them back to Hell," he strode to his duffel, and yanked out the blade Drake had been looking at early, "but this knife right here will kill 'em."

Inwardly seething that he'd been so stupid to believe everything Sam and Castiel had said to him, Drake's eyes narrowed on the knife. "I know demons lie, but do they ever tell the truth, Sam?"

"Sometimes, but it's usually only when they can use the truth to their benefit."

"So it's better to kill them then to send them back to Hell." Giving a curt nod, he walked the short distance to his bed, and dropped down onto the mattress. "I'm exhausted, I'm gonna get some sleep."

"Drake, I got you a burger and fries, so why don't you eat before you go to sleep?"

Sam's look of concern seemed so genuine Drake almost gave in, but then remind himself that if demons lied, Lucifer's vessel had to be the biggest liar of them all. "I already told you I'm not hungry." Without another word, he lay down, rolled over and pretended to go to sleep.

SNSNSNSNSN

As soon as Drake was certain Sam was asleep, he slid out of bed, grabbed the demon killing knife out of Sam's duffel bag, slipped quietly out of the room, and ran right into John. The older man staggered slightly as he backed away from Drake, and nearly dropped the bucket of ice in his hands. From the strong scent of alcohol on his breath, Drake surmised he'd been drinking for some time, and a smile worked its way across his face as he chanced a glance at John's truck.

"What are you doing out here?" John asked, narrowing eyes on Drake.

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd maybe take a walk."A look of suspicion crossing John's features, his brows pulled together as he studied Drake for a moment. "But since you're awake, maybe we could talk?" he added with a tentative smile.

"Sure," he nudged his head toward his bedroom door, and Drake followed him as he entered his room. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, pouring himself and Drake a drink.

"John, you know I'm not your son, right?" he asked, pretending to take a drink as he glanced around the room in search of the older man's truck keys. Unlike Sam who kept his keys with him, fearing Drake would take them and leave, John's were left out on the table only a few feet away from where they stood. "The whole idea is just beyond ridiculous . . . I mean, you'd have to realize it if you had another son besides Sam. Wouldn't you?"

John was silent as he hastily gulped down the amber liquid in his plastic cup, and just as quickly poured himself another. To his credit, he looked absolutely miserable – a perfect, flawless acting job, reinforcing Drake's growing belief that demons were really good liars. "I know you don't want to believe it, Drake, but it's the truth."

"I already have a family, and you and Sam aren't it." Pushing past John, Drake set his cup down on the table beside the truck keys, and then turned back to look at the bearded man. "So once we get back to Naples, I want you both to leave and never come back."

"We can't do that not when you're in danger."

"I can take care of myself."

"No, you can't, Drake." Swallowing down the most of his drink, he poured himself another without waiting to finish what was left in the cup. "You don't know the first thing about hunting, and I'm not going to leave you on your own to get killed."

"Hitting the Jack awful hard, aren't you, John?" Drake bobbed his head toward the bottle in the older man's hand. "Why don't you just drink it out of the bottle and save yourself a step?"

"I just found out I have a son I don't even remember having – I don't remember Dean growing up or what kind of man he turned out to be – they took that from me, so I think that gives me the right to have a few drinks if I want 'em."

Drake's gut clenched seeing unshed tears glistening in John's eyes, but steeled himself against feeling sorry for him, knowing that the Winchesters' killed Jamie's parents. Sure, maybe they were possessed and didn't know what they were doing, but that wouldn't bring her family back.

"I don't have any of Dean's memories, John, so if you're hoping I'll remember something, you're going to be disappointed." As he spoke, he slipped a hand behind his back, and grasped hold of the keys, holding them tightly in his fingers so they wouldn't jingle. "I'm never going to be the good son following your orders blindly like Sam does. I'm a country boy who likes fighting fires, singing in bars and riding bull for kicks – that's my life and I don't want anything else."

"It doesn't matter what you want, son, you don't choose the kind of life Sam and I live – it chooses you – it chose you. So whether you like the idea or not, either you become like us or they'll kill you."

"I'm not going to be like you or Sam, John, and if that gets me killed at least I'll know I died on my own terms doing what I believe in." Making sure to keep the truck keys out of sight, Drake strode to the door, but hesitated when John called out to him.

"Your my family, Drake, whether you choose to believe or not, so you do what you've gotta do, and I'll be around to make sure you stay alive long enough to enjoy it."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Drake fought back the tears as once again he saw the image of himself and Sam silently standing beside a funeral pyre, and knew in his heart it was John who had died. "Then you'd better take care of yourself, John." Without another word or backward glance, he headed out the door and over to the hunter's truck. After the lights went out in John's room, he waited for what seemed the longest time to make sure both Winchesters' were asleep, and then he drove out of the parking lot and headed toward home.


	25. Chapter 25

Thanks for reading, I hope everyone is still enjoying the story as it unfolds. Thanks again for all the really great reviews, they mean the world to me! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-five_

"I can't believe he stole my damn truck," John said for what must have been at least the tenth time since they'd discovered Drake had left. He stood staring slack-jawed at the empty parking spot where his vehicle had been parked the night before.

Ignoring his father, Sam busied himself with packing their duffel bags in the Impala. Drake had left his duffel behind, so Sam threw that in the trunk as well, slammed down the lid in aggravation, and turned back to his father. "He's got quite a few hours head start on us, so we'd better get moving."

John grumbled under his breath as he slid into the passenger's seat, and once they were both situated, Sam started the engine, revved it a few times, and peeled out of the parking lot. As he drove, he searched his mind for a logical reason why Drake would leave in the middle of the night. He had to know they would come after him especially since he took the truck. And since he only had one intended destination, it wasn't like he'd be hard to find. Over and over again he replayed their last conversation in his head, wondering if Drake's sudden interest in killing demons was why he'd left.

"Did Dean ever steal my car?" John asked out of the blue, breaking in on Sam's musings. "I guess what I'm asking is would this be a Dean trait or is Drake a budding car thief?"

"Stealing cars when he needed them to get somewhere is definitely something Dean would have done." Chancing a glance in his father's direction and seeing lost look in John's dark eyes, Sam's stomach muscles tightened uncomfortably.

"I know we fight a lot and are at odds a good share of the time, but what about Dean? Did we get along okay?"

"He idolized you, dad." With a heavy sigh, Sam refocused his attention on the road. "He was everything you could ever want in a son – brave, smart, funny, loyal to a fault . . . he loved you with all his heart, and it tore him apart when you . . . ." Sam's voice trailed.

"When I what?"

"It's nothing." White-knuckling the steering wheel, he pressed down harder on the gas pedal. "I shouldn't have gone to sleep. He was on his cell phone when I came back to the room, and then he started asking about demons – I should've known something was up."

"So you're thinking he left because he thought his family or one of his friends was in danger?"

As his father spoke, a thought occurred to Sam, and slamming on the brakes, the car skidded off to into the ditch. "He wanted to know how to kill a demon," he said as he flung open the door, and rushed to back of the Impala. Throwing open the lid, he yanked out duffel filled with weapons, rummaged through it and came up empty handed.

Uttering a slew of curse words, he slammed the lid and got back inside the car. "He took the demon knife." He looked to his father, and saw the same look of fear he felt in his gut reflecting in his father's eyes. "He's going to try and hunt a demon on his own."

"Get moving, Sam, we have to stop him before he gets himself killed," John ordered, although it wasn't necessary as Sam had already pushed the gas pedal to the floor, burning rubber as he peeled out onto the road.

SNSNSNSNSN

It was nearing noon by the time Drake drove down the hill into Naples. He called both Gary and Bear while he was on the road, and had asked them to meet him at Bob's Tavern at twelve o'clock. Spotting both Gary vehicle in the parking lot outside of the local bar, he breathed a thankful sigh. He wasn't sure Bear would show up after the things he'd said to Drake after Cindy and Rico died, and was more than a little surprised when the bear of a man grabbed him into a bone-crushing embrace the moment he went inside the bar and walked over to them.

"You had me goin' out of my head with worry, lil' man." Bear pulled back and looked Drake up and down, and deep frown furrowed at his brow. "Looks like the dragon's chasin' you instead of the other way around . . . it's gonna end up killin' ya this time around, Dray – you'd better not let that happen or I'll chase ya all the way into Hell an' kick your ass."

Gary took one look at Drake, shook his head, and motioned for bartender to come over to them. "Ed, have Jackie load Drake up a burger, fries – " he glanced at Drake, " – you want an order of wings with that?"

"I'm not – "

"Yeah, better make that two orders of buffalo wings, and three beers."

"Ed, I'm not hungry so don't –"

"Sorry, Dray," Ed cut him off with a lighthearted chuckled, "but I still owe Gary for junking his four-wheeler, so if he says you're gonna eat, you're gonna eat."

"Fine," Drake reluctantly conceded, knowing his three fellow firefighters wouldn't let him leave the bar until he'd finished at least some of the food Gary had ordered. "Forget the beers and have her bag up the food. I'll eat while we drive." As Ed went to put in their order, Drake took a seat beside an older, bearded stranger in a trucker cap, and feeling as if he had seen or known him from somewhere, gave a slight nod of acknowledgement before returning his attention to his friends.

"Those things we read about, the ones in Sam's journal, they're real," he began in a low tone, glancing around the bar to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "And I know I don't have any right to ask this," he looked to Bear, gave a wan smile, then continued when the bigger man gave a roll of his eyes, "but Jamie's in danger, and I need your help cuz I don't have the first clue what I'm up against."

"So what are we actually talking about here?" Gary asked, leaning back against the bar. "Werewolf, vengeful spirit . . . Rakshasa?"

"Rakwhata?" both Drake and Bear uttered almost simultaneously, eyes wide as they stared at Gary.

"I went back to the library." Grinning sheepishly as if he'd been caught doing something wrong, a deep blush infused Gary's cheeks. "Remember little dude?" They both nodded. "Yeah, well he was there, an' the kid helped me do research on all sorts of whacked out things. Apparently a Rakshasa is a kind of demon who can be killed with a pure brass knife."

"Do you even have a pure brass knife?" Bear asked before Drake had the chance to voice the same question.

"Well, no," Gary admitted, "but you guys know Fred Smitter's over in Avoca, right?" Once again they both nodded. "He makes knives in his shop so I told him what I wanted, an' after a bunch of strange looks and questions, he said he'd make me three of 'em."

"How much is that gonna cost you?" Drake asked, casting a furtive glance at the man sitting beside him, wondering if he was listening to their conversation, and also trying to figure out where he knew him from.

"I told him _we'd_ work it off in exchange for the knives."

"You what?" Bear exclaimed, and then noticing people staring at him, lowered his voice. "So what exactly did you tell him we'd do for him?"

"Cleaning out the horse stalls, milkin' cows, helpin' bring his corn crop . . . nothing you haven't done a thousand times before, so stop giving me that look."

"Why are you doing this?" Drake asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "All the research, having Fred make knives for us . . . why would you do that?"

A knowing look past between his two friends before Gary met Drake gaze. "Putt-Putt was murdered the night you left town. Jeff said he was alone at the impound lot . . . he said the surveillance tapes – it was like he was torn apart from the inside out."

"Putt-Putt. . . ." Tear stinging at his eyes, Drake swallowed hard.

"No one drives right into a t-tanker truck without at least trying to slam on the brakes," Bear added, voice trembling with sadness as he wiped away the tears slipping down his cheeks. "Let alone three cars . . . that wasn't an accident, Drake. That tanker barreled right into her car, and those other two drivers never even tried to stop – something purposely killed Cindy and Rico, and I'm not going to stop searching until I find it and kill it."

"There were no skid marks," Gary added when Drake looked to him for confirmation, "I checked it over myself – four vehicles involved and not a single set of skid marks."

"What did my dad have to say?"

"He's a wreck, Dray." Hanging an arm around Bear's shoulder in a comforting manner, Gary heaved a weary sigh. "I guess when they were pulling up to the scene they saw the jeep barrel right into Barry Richards as he was trying to pull Rico from the wreckage."

Drake's heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach, recalling how dispatch had come over the line to say the first responder on scene was down. "My dad's best friend . . . I-I didn't know."

"I didn't find out until the next day and by then you were already gone."

"We have to find this sonuvabitchin' thing and kill it before it kills any more people," Bear growled, and a split second later Drake could've sworn he heard the older man mumble something under his breath.

Shifting in his seat, Drake watched the bearded man throw some money down on the counter and then he got up and left, leaving Drake to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing. With a shake of his head, he returned his attention to his friends. "Jamie said the thing that killed her parents had black eyes," he said, purposely leaving out the part where she'd claimed it was Sam, John and Castiel who had murdered them. "And Sam told me if it had black eyes it was a demon – so what else did you learn about them at the library, Gar?"

"Nothing." A rakish grin spread across his features. "Two really hot girls walked into the library and my concentration was blown all to hell." Digging through his pocket, he yanked out a piece of paper torn out of a book, and showed them both girls phone numbers. "They both Facebooked me, and I've got a date with one of them next Thursday. So with that in mind, whatever this demon thing is, it's going down way before then."

"I'm with you on that," Bear said with a curt nod, and then added, "is Facebooked some sort of sexual thing I would've learned about if I'd gone to the library more often at school?"

"No," Gary laughed, "it's this whole internet thing where you friend people and play Farmville – I made you both an account. Bear you're Big Bear Stud Man and Drake you're Urban Legend – I've friended us all so we can chat online whenever we feel like it."

"Seriously?" Both Drake and Bear responded in unison.

"No," Gary laughed even harder at the looks of mutual horror on both firefighters faces. "I was totally looking at their hooters the whole time, an' lost track after they mentioned fake barn building. If I wanna build a barn, I'll go out an' build a barn. I damn sure don't need a computer for that."

Drake opened his mouth to comment, but snapped it shut as Ed returned with the food Gary had ordered. Even though he knew he didn't have any money, he reached into his back pocket to get his wallet, stopping short when Gary tossed a few crumpled bills on the counter. "You can pay me back by actually eating everything I bought you," he said, the smile slipping from his features. "I'm serious, lil' man, you look like hell, an' I made a promise to Jake to always look out for you, so in other words, you're gonna eat."

"I said I would," Drake grumbled at the reminder of his brother, and grabbing the bag of food off the counter, he headed toward the door with both his friends following him. Noticing both front tires of John's truck were flat, he stopped short just outside the door. "Son of a bitch! Someone flattened both John's tires – he's so gonna kill me."

"Make that four flat tires," Gary gestured toward his truck, "seems like someone doesn't want us to go huntin' demons." Ducking his head back inside the bar, he called out to Ed, "Hey, dude, you mind if we borrow the Chevelle?"

"You ain't gonna take it muddin' are ya?" Ed replied as he yanked the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Gary.

"No, we're going demon hunting," Bear interjected with a grim smile.

"And by demon hunting, you mean yes, you are going muddin' . . . damn, why do you guys always have to go off-roading while I'm working."

"We're livin' the dream, brother man . . . livin' the dream." Gary chuckled good-naturedly.

Once they were all situated in Ed's Chevelle, Gary and Drake in the front seat, and Bear in the back, Gary rifled through their friend's cassette tape collection, found what he was looking for, and put it into the player, turning up the sound, and bobbed his head to the music when Back in Black came on.

"Sorry," he grinned when both Drake and Bear rolled their eyes, "this just seemed like a Back in Black moment to me – the three of us going to kill demons, kickin' ass, takin' names – Back in Black . . . Perfect."

"Alright, Mr. AC/DC," Bear leaned forward and hung his arms over the front seat, "we need weapons, so head to the church for buckets of holy water an' then will go to my house."

"Gotcha, brother man."

SNSNSNSNSN

Sam and John were about an hour away from Naples when Sam's cell phone rang. He quickly glanced at the screen, praying it was Drake, but saw Bobby's name on the caller id. "You find him, Bobby?" he asked the moment he answered the call.

"Yeah, I found him," Bobby responded after a moment's hesitation, "and flattened the tires on both John's and his friend's vehicles thinkin' it would keep 'em from doing something stupid. The dumb idjits just took someone else's car instead, so now I'm followin' them."

"Don't lose them, Bobby, or they'll be dead before we get there."

"I'm not gonna lose them, Sam." Bobby fell silent for a moment, and then with a chuckle, went on to say, "At least they thought to get holy water – seriously, you should see this. They've got gallons and gallons of it. They must have an in with the priest or something."

"Yeah, the three of them are everyone's best buddy, so I wouldn't be surprised." Raking a hand through his hair, Sam heaved a heavy sigh. "Were you able to find Jamie?"

"No, but I'm pretty damn sure they'll lead me straight to her."

"If we don't get there in time and you have to kill her, don't let him see it, Bobby – I don't want him to see it. It'll screw him up worse than he already is."

"I'll do my best." With that said, Bobby hung up, and Sam returned his phone to his pocket.

Sam glanced at his watch, and then looked to his father. "We're not going to make it in time, and they're going to get themselves killed." His grip tightened around the steering wheel as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. "I should've kept him handcuffed at least he'd be safe then."

"He's a smart kid, Sam. Hell, he's managed to get away from us twice now, so don't count him out yet."

SNSNSNSNSN

"Super Soakers?" Drake lifted a brow in confusion when Gary grabbed three giant water guns off the shelf in Bear's barn. "What are we gonna do with those? Challenge any demon we come across to a water fight?"

"Ever see those movies where the dumb guy gets too close to the butt-ugly thing chasin' it?" Bear said, grabbing three crossbows down from where they were mounted on the wall. When Drake nodded, he went on to say, "Holy water in Super Soakers makes us a helluva lot smarter than those guys."

"Drake," Gary nudged his head toward the crossbow bolts, "grab those, dunk them in the holy water then dip them in the barrel of rock salt."

"Where'd you get all the rock salt from?" he asked, peering down into the barrel full of salt.

"Me an' Markus took a little side trip to the salt mines outside of Geneseo last night." He chuckled. "Markus tried climbing to the top of the mountain of salt, and the stuff was like freakin' quicksand. Needless to say, he swore never go anywhere with me again if I said it was a surprise and not to worry about it cuz he'd have a blast."

"He didn't ask what you wanted all the salt for?"

"Yeah, I just told him I was thinking of starting my own moonshine still, and it was all good."

"There's no salt in moonshine."

"True enough, lil' man," Gary clapped him on the back, "so it's a damn good thing it was him who went with me instead of you . . . though now he's said he's gonna be lookin' for some of the first batch in repayment."

"So what are you going to do when he comes looking for it?" Drake asked as he dipped the first of the bolts in the holy water then coated them with salt before setting them aside to dry.

"Figured I'd pour a bottle of Jack into an old jug and give it to him. After one taste I'll be a god to him, an' he'll be fallin' all over himself to go back to the salt mines."

"Huh, good plan."

As Drake finished preparing the bolts, Bear coated bullets in the same mixture, setting them aside to dry on the workbench. Several times Drake caught his two friends giving each other odd looks, and finally when he caught Bear nudging his head toward him, he had to ask, "What's wrong?"

"I know it's Jamie we're talking about here, Dray," Gary began, shuffling his feet as he lowered his sights to the dusty cement floor, "and I know you wanna think she's okay, but Jeff saw the camera tapes . . . all I'm sayin' is we don't know for sure she's still Jamie. I'm just sayin is all, so you can tell me to mind my own business whenever, and I'll keep my trap shut."

Drake opened his mouth to tell him he was wrong if he thought Jamie was possessed, but Bear cut him off before he had the chance to speak. "Don't act like you don't know this is a trap, Drake. Backwoods cabin. No phone lines to call for help. Nothing but woods for miles around. The moment you stop thinking with your head, and start thinking with your downstairs brain, we're dead."

"So what are you saying? I should just go in there and kill Jamie without giving it a second thought?"

"No," Bear shook his head, "If this is a trap, the demons waiting for us will more than likely be in the bodies of friends of ours . . . so we don't kill 'em – we shoot to wound, nothing more. But we do go in there and kick enough ass to show them you don't fuck with us country boys."

"I'm not going to hurt Jamie – I won't do it."

"If it comes down to that, I'll do it." Gary heaved a weary broken sigh. "She's my family, so I should be the one . . . ." With moisture glistening in his hazel eyes, his voice trailed.

After a lengthy pause wherein Drake tried to figure out what he should say, he finally uttered, "So do we have a plan?"

"Course we do," Bear responded, gathering together all the crossbow bolts they'd prepared. "We're gonna attack them just as if they were a fire – you on the inside doing search and rescue, Gary circling around from the southwest corner near our tree stand, coming up from behind the cabin to take out any threats while making sure you still have an escape route if things go south, and I'll come around from the north side of the place taking out anything with black eyes that moves."

Both Drake and Gary nodded in agreement, and after that none of them spoke, each preparing themselves the best they could for what they were about to do. With the last of their weapons loaded into the Chevelle, they all changed into the camouflage gear they'd used for hunting. They weren't sure if it was what a hunter of demons would wear, but figured it was one of their best chances for survival. After all, you couldn't kill what you couldn't see or at least that's what they hoped.

Drake stashed the demon knife he'd stolen from Sam in the side pocket of his cargo pants, and then followed his friends out to the car. As he watched his two best friends get inside the vehicle, he wished he hadn't called them. If they were right and it was a trap, they could get killed or badly injured and it would be his fault. His gut clenched at the thought, and he cursed under his breath.

"Maybe I should go alone," he said as he slid onto the passenger's seat and shut the door. "Even if you guys think this is a trap, Jamie would never hurt me."

"Nice try, lil' man," Bear playfully smacked him on the back of the head, "but as the Three Musketeers would say, all for something or other, and. . .well, you get the point – we're gonna kick some demon ass, so shut the hell up and just be a musketeer, would ya?"

"It's 'all for one and one for all'," Gary called back over his shoulder, smirking at Bear through the rearview mirror. "But he's right, Drake, you really do need to start being more of a musketeer," he chuckled.

"Whatever, dude."

As they drove to the cabin, Gary kept glancing in his rearview mirror, and by their third turn, he bobbed his head toward the back seat. "That guy in the truck back there is following us."

"Lose him," both Drake and Bear responded unconcernedly.

"Alright."

Gary grinned as he picked up speed, and nearly taking a corner on two wheels turned onto a dirt road, kicking up dirt and gravel as he sped along the unpaved road. Taking another sharp turn, they raced up a hill; dust so thick behind they could no longer see if the truck was still following them. As they came to the bottom of the hill, the road veered in two directions, but instead of taking either road, he followed the rutted path cut through the thick brush and weeds. The tires spun in the mud, the back of the Chevelle fishtailing as he once again picked up speed, leaving even deeper ruts in their wake.

"You lost him, Gar," Bear called out from the back seat, and with a grin, clapped both Gary and Drake on the shoulder. "Damn,we really need to get out an' go muddin' more often."

"I'm with you on that, brother man." Drake chuckled.

"Yeah, but next time we take my truck," Gary chimed in. "Ed's Chevelle handles like crap in the mud."

After getting stuck a few times, Gary managed to maneuver the car back out onto another dirt road and headed toward Ring Rose Road. Within fifteen minutes they pulled off along the side of the road and parked the vehicle. As Gary went around and popped the trunk, Bear pulled Drake off to the side.

"Listen, lil' man," he hung an arm around Drake's shoulder, "if you even get the slightest gut twinge she's possessed, I want you to get out of there. In there you're trapped, but out here you know these woods – you take cover an' then take out as many as you can."

"Gotcha." Drake gave a nod, although he doubted Jamie was possessed and even if she was he had no intention of leaving her.

"I mean it. Don't get yourself killed. It would break me if you did." He pulled away, grasped hold of Drake's hand, and as their fingers slipped from each other's they both pounded twice on their chest above their hearts. "Love ya, lil' man."

"Love ya, too, brother man."

"You two just about done with your hugfest?" Gary said, handing Drake a crossbow and a quiver of bolts. "Or should I come back in ten minutes?"

"Naw, we're good." Before Drake could manage to say another word, Gary grabbed him onto an embrace, and when he pulled away, he smeared a wet salty substance on Drake's lips.

"Holy water and rock salt," he supplied with a grin as Drake spit out some of the salty taste in his mouth. "Kiss her, Drake. If she reacts to the salt and water you'll know for sure." He handed him one of the Super Soakers filled with holy water. "Shoot to kill," he chuckled, gesturing to the water gun, and waited until Drake slung the strap over his shoulder before giving him another hug. "Take care of you."

"Take care of you." Drake pulled away, pounded his chest and pointed to Gary as Gary did the same.

As Gary and Bear set off in opposite directions, circling the perimeter of the forest, Drake headed straight through the woods. His eyes darted back and forth as he heard twigs cracking from all around him. Pausing for a moment, he checked over his crossbow, making certain the locking mechanism was holding tight, and the bolt was seated properly. He'd barely finished making the corrections needed to make certain the bolt flew correctly when he heard a scream off to the left in the direction Bear had traveled. Luckily or unluckily depending on how he chose to look at it, it was a woman screaming – a woman who was more than likely a friend of his, but at least it wasn't Bear.

He hadn't even gone another ten feet when he heard more screaming, but it was off to the right this time. It was definitely a man screaming this time, and his heart leapt into his throat, wondering if it was Gary or someone else he knew. But didn't have time to give it much thought as Coy stepped out from behind a corpse of trees.

"You an' the boys doing a little bit of hunting, Drake?" With a smile spreading across his features, he pressed his eyes closed and when they slid back open, they were solid black.

"Yeah, we thought we'd scout out the area before hunting season opened." Hands trembling, he pushed back the butt of the crossbow to rest against his shoulder as his grasp tightened on the forestock.

"Go ahead," Coy splayed his arms out to the side, "shoot . . . kill your friend, I'll just keep him alive long enough to tear your pretty little girlfriend apart and then I'll let him die. It won't bother me in the slightest, but how are you gonna live with two more deaths staining your trembling hands?"

Eying the demon possessing his friend, Drake lowered his weapon slightly. "Come on, Drake, do it . . . payback for me killing Bear's girl. Drove that tanker truck right through her, split her nearly in half."

Finger on the trigger, he lowered the crossbow a little more, aiming it toward his friend's leg. "I can't . . . I won't kill my friend."

"I didn't think –" his words died abruptly on his lips, replaced with a scream as Drake gently squeezed the trigger, sending the bolt sailing to rip through his upper leg. As soon as the salt and holy water pierced his flesh it sizzled and smoke, the demon dropping to the ground writhing in pain.

As another scream and black smoke burst from the demon's lips, Drake dropped the crossbow, grabbed for the Super Soaker, aimed and fired the spray directly into its mouth. The black smoke swirled and coiled above Coy's head for several seconds as Drake continued to blast it with holy water then in an explosion of flames the demon vanished. "Holy Water Super Soaker, you sonuvabitch, bet you weren't expecting that!"

"Dr-Drake," Coy cried out, gripping at his leg, blood seeping around the bolt to drip down his fingertips. "Wh-what happened?"

"I don't have time to explain," Drake responded, hearing yet another cry from somewhere deep in the forest. Hastily, he checked his friend's leg wound, wrapped an arm around Coy's waist and hauled him to his feet. Once his friend was somewhat sturdy on his feet, he bent down, snatched up the crossbow and handed it to him along with the rest of the bolts. "Ed's car is not from here," he gestured toward the road, "you come across anyone other than Bear or Gary, shoot 'em in the leg just like I did with you or they'll kill you. Got me?"

"Yeah. Gotcha."

Not waiting to see if Coy could actually walk to the Chevelle, he tightened his hold on the Super Soaker, and took off at a dead run toward the cabin.

SNSNSNSNSN

"Sam?" Bobby said the moment Sam answered his cell phone. "Where the hell are you?"

"We're driving through Naples right now. You find them?"

"Yeah, about ten miles outside of town, turn onto a road called Ring Rose. The road splits in two directions, take a right and go up the hill a ways."

"Gotcha." Sam pressed harder on the gas pedal, sped through town and up the curvy, hilly road toward Prattsburgh. "Do you know if Drake's alright?"

"No," Bobby responded after a slight hesitation, "I can hear screaming coming from all around, but I can't tell you who it's coming from."

Heart plummeting into the pit of his stomach, Sam cast a glance in his father's direction. "Bobby says he hears screaming. Why couldn't he have just waited for us – why'd he have to rush in there half-cocked?"

"Because his friends and the girl he loves are in danger – it's what you'd do, it's what I'd do, so why should your brother be any different?"

"But he's not like us, dad, he doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and he's gonna end up getting himself killed."

"Sam?" Bobby called out over the phone line, drawing Sam's attention back to him. "There's someone coming out of – shit!" Dead air filled the line, and then he heard Bobby cursing along with another man shouting. "Put that damn thing down before I shoot you in your other leg," Bobby shouted to whomever the other man was, then another heated exchange past between the two before Bobby finally called out to Sam again. "Seems as if Drake shot this kid in the leg then Super Soakered a demon back to Hell."

"Super Soakered?" Eyes widening in shocked surprise, he looked to his dad once more. "He actually blew apart a demon with a water gun. How the hell did they even think of doing that?"

"That's definitely my boy," John chuckled, a proud grin spreading wide across his face.

Ignoring his father's comment, Sam returned his attention to the phone. "Bobby we'll be there in like five minutes, so see what you can learn from that kid, okay?"

"Alright, but I really think Drake and his two friends are holding their own as well as any hunter out there if the screams I'm hearing are any indication."

"It more than likely their screams," Sam muttered, stomach churning at the image of Drake, Gary and Bear being tortured by demons. Drake had gotten real lucky with the one demon he'd sent packing back to Hell, but there were probably quite a few more to take its place, and eventually they would kill the young firefighter.

"I don't think so," Bobby uttered with a heavy sigh, "but if I'm right, demons aren't the only thing we need to worry about – Drake told this guy Coy to shoot anyone who wasn't Bear or Gary, so if they see us that makes us targets, too."

"We'll deal with that when and if it happens."

"Sam," John interrupted, drawing Sam's attention back to him, "Drake and those boys know these woods, and if they're hunters like you said, they'll know how to blend into their surroundings . . . maybe they don't know how to hunt demons, but it sounds like they did have some sort of plan, so I think you need to trust that your brother might just know what he's doing out there."

"I can't take that chance, dad." Sam shook his head. "Not with my little brother's life hanging in the balance. So maybe you can fool yourself into believing he'll be fine, but I can't just pretend he's magically going to turn back into Dean and know how to take on demons. It's not going to happen."

"If he has Dean's soul, he is Dean and nothing's going to change that," John argued, but Sam had stopped paying attention the moment he saw the sign for Ring Rose, and hastily made a turn onto the dirt road.

Sam's eyes widened considerably when he pulled up alongside a Black Chevelle and Bobby's truck and noticed the older hunter standing beside a dark haired man with a shotgun in hand. The last time he'd seen Bobby he was in a wheelchair, and even knowing that other things had changed since Dean vanished, he hadn't expected to see Bobby walking again.

The moment the two Winchesters got out of the Impala, Bobby held up a crossbow bolt for them to see, and a smile lit across the older hunter's face. "They tipped the bolts in rock salt and I'm guessing holy water."

Instead of feeling relieved that the three hunters had been smart enough to prepare themselves for hunting demons, Sam stared slacked-jawed at the crossbow in the injured man's hands. "If you have Drake's crossbow, what does he have?" he asked the dark-haired man, even though he already knew the answer.

"He has ahh . . . well, all I saw him carrying was a water gun."

"Sonuvabitch." Without waiting for John or Bobby, he yanked his gun out of the holster and tore off after his brother.

SNSNSNSNSN

Drake edged his way around the side of the dilapidated cabin, and rubbing his hand along the dirty window to clear it off, peered inside. Not seeing any sign of Jamie in the small bedroom, he moved to the next window, narrowed his eyes to mere slits and after a moment of searching found her crouched on the floor beside an old couch with her hands wrapped around her head. If he had even entertained the idea she might be possessed like Coy had been, it vanished in that moment.

Heart in his throat, he made his way to the front door, and gently knocked, hoping not to frighten her more than she already appeared. "Jamie, it's Drake, lemme in."

"Dr-Drake?" she stammered, her voice choking off on a muffled sob.

"Yeah, baby, it's me." hearing another cry and the sound of someone or something trampling through the woods, he peered over his shoulder. "It's going to be alright, you just gotta let me in so I can get you out of here."

"H-How can I be sure it's really you," she asked, her voice growing louder as she moved closer to the door.

"It's me, Jamie, I swear it is." At the sound of more snapping twigs, he looked over his shoulder again, eyes narrowing on the area where he heard the noise coming from. He turned back and knocked a little louder. "Come on, Jamie, we got to get out of here. So let me in."

"I'm not opening this door until I know for sure it's you . . . so tell me something only you would know."

Mind racing for something only the two of them shared, he hit upon something neither of them had ever told anyone else. Leaning his head against the door, he squeezed his eyelids shut as the memory brought tears to his eyes. "We were out on the pier at the lake . . . the stars were out – it was a beautiful night." He swallowed hard. "I was drinking, but you stuck to having water, and when I asked you why you just smiled an' said you were going to have my baby." Swiping the back of his hand across his cheek, he rubbed away the tears slipping down them. "I'd never been so happy in all my life, and we promised to keep it a secret until after graduation . . . but four weeks later you lost the baby." Drawing in a staggering breath, he raked a hand through his hair as he went on to say, "You were so broken an' I said all the wrong things . . . I was so stupid and even after all this time I haven't gotten any smarter – but I do know I love you, Jamie."

The lock clicked, and slowly she opened the door. "You weren't completely stupid," with a soft cry she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer to her, "And even though I yelled at you at the time for saying it, I always loved the idea of having six or seven more babies with you."

"I'm so sorry, Jamie," he breathed, and pulling back, he held her gaze for several long seconds before lowering his lips to hers.

For this briefest of seconds she returned his kiss, but then her eyes grew wide and black as a scream erupted from deep with her throat. "You stupid sonuvabitch," she shouted, spitting out the salt from her mouth, and before Drake had a chance to think or react, he was being thrown across the room.

He slammed into the wall full-force, but instead of sliding to the ground, he was held pinned to his spot, watching helplessly as the door slammed shut. Jamie sauntered the length of the small room, and gently trailed her fingertips along his jaw as she looked him squarely in the eyes. "Hello, Dean," she smirked, slamming a fist into Drake's stomach. "Long time no see."

Mind racing and gasping for breath, Drake uttered, "Meg?"

"Ahh . . . you do remember. Funny how you can't remember your own brother, but me – one punch and it all comes flying back to you." She chuckled lightly as a second fist connected with his cheek.


	26. Chapter 26

Sorry about the delay I was away on vacation for Memorial Day. Thanks for reading and for all the really great reviews. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-six_

Drake wasn't sure how or why Meg's name had come to him and her fists slamming into his face and stomach wasn't helping to bring about the answer he was searching for. "M'not Dean," he mumbled, vision blurring to black as the back of his head connected with the wall with enough force to knock him momentarily unconscious.

Eyelids fluttering open, he blinked hard several times as two shadowy images danced around his line of vision before they finally merged and came into focus. Her eyes had returned to a light shade of gray, and as she looked at him with loving concern, he uttered, "Jamie?"

"It's not her, Drake," came a voice off to the right – his voice. Dean's voice. Drake's gaze shifted to where he'd heard Dean speaking, and saw nothing, but as he returned his sights to Jamie, Dean appeared beside her. "God, I loved her so much," Dean breathed, ghosting his fingertips along her cheek, but if she saw him or felt his touch, she failed to acknowledge it.

"Meg?" he asked, brows pulling together in confusion.

"No, not Meg." His hand slipped away from her face. "I'm talking about Jamie."

"Aww . . . you look so lost and confused, Drake," Jamie said at nearly the same time as Dean, sarcasm dripping from her tone, leaving him with no doubt she was still possessed. "It must be so hard knowing you wouldn't even be alive if you hadn't stolen Dean's soul from him."

"I didn't steal anything from him."

"I'm pretty sure Sam feels a helluva lot different about that than you." She laughed. "And don't kid yourself; if he thought it would bring Dean back, he'd kill you in a heartbeat."

"That's not true, Drake, don't let her get in your head."

"I'm sure he would," Drake replied, ignoring Dean's comment. He'd seen the hateful looks Sam had given him when he didn't think he was looking. If he'd thought killing Drake would bring Dean back, he wouldn't hesitate to do as Meg had said. "You don't think I know how much he hates me?" he went on to say while trying unsuccessfully to pry himself loose from the wall. "I'm not stupid, I can see it in his eyes every time he looks at me."

"He's trying," Dean said as he slowly circled in a predatory manner and came to stand directly in front of Jamie, blocking Drake's view of her. She couldn't see him and she definitely didn't hear him, leading Drake to wonder if he'd hit his head harder than he'd thought. "But he's not used to being the big brother yet, so needless to say, he's screwing up badly – just give him a chance and he'll figure it out."

"All of your friends and family are going to die, Drake . . . those two country hicks outside," Jamie hitched a thumb over her shoulder toward the door, running around thinking they're going to make a difference – when Sam says yes to Lucifer, they'll be the first ones to die – Sam will kill them and there won't be a damn thing you can do to stop it from happening – unless . . . ."

"Unless what?"

"Don't listen to her." Dean swung to look at Drake. "Whatever she's going to say, it's a lie. Demons lie – they always lie."

_But sometimes they tell the truth, _Drake reminded himself.

"We don't want you – we don't even care about you." She shrugged unconcernedly. "So I'm going to make you an offer. Your life for theirs – you die, they get to live and we'll leave. Everyone you know will be safe. It's a onetime offer, Drake, I'd suggest you take it before the body count really starts rising."

"You take that offer and everyone dies, Drake!" Dean made to grab hold of Drake's arm, but his fingertips slipped right through Drake's flesh. "Listen to me, you don't make deals with demons – not now, not ever!"

"What about Jamie?" Drake asked, considering his options, but failed to see any other way to protect his friends and family other than what she'd suggested. The demons had already proven they could kill anyone he knew anytime they wanted to, and not even Sam, John or Castiel could stop them.

"Unfortunately, she's too broken to survive without me, but she's still in here." She tapped at her temple. "If you don't agree, I can make her suffer in ways you can't even begin to imagine." She chuckled. "She was screaming as she watched herself kill her parents. I can make her do anything I want, Drake, and all she can do is watch. So either you say yes to my offer, or the next person she'll kill is her cousin Gary."

"Ask her why she doesn't just kill you," Dean butted in again, talking over her in attempt to keep him from hearing her threaten Gary's life. "She's a demon and your pinned to a wall – why not just kill you?" He took a step forward, coming face to face with Drake. The peaceful look Drake had witnessed in his greens eyes the day he'd first seen him in the Impala disappeared, anger hardening them. "She wants your soul – my soul, I gave it to you and I'll be damned if I let you give it to her."

With eyes locked on Dean, Drake pursed his lips and shook his head. "I'm not giving you my soul – I don't make deals with demons . . . and those country hicks out there," with a nudge of his head toward the door, he smirked, "we may not hunt the things Sam and Dean do, but we were born to it nonetheless – gun in one hand, bow in the other, so if you think it's going to be that easy then bring it on, bitch!"

"Wrong answer." With a malicious grin spreading across her features, she raised a hand, curled her fingers into a fist, and Drake's heart clenched painfully. Her fingers tightened and he bit down hard to keep from screaming as the pain intensified to an unbearable level.

"D-Dea – " Drake gasped, vision blurring as he struggled to stay conscious.

A sudden crack followed by the door flying wide open to slam against the wall, momentarily distracted Meg, and Drake dropped to the floor in a heap. Confident Drake wasn't a threat to her she swung to look at Sam and John.

"Hello, Sam." A coy smile flitted across her features as her gaze traveled the length of him, and then she turned her attention to John. "I think the last time I saw you, John, you were up on a rack bleeding to death – I liked you better that way." Her gaze ticked back to Sam. "You should've seen him, Sam," she laughed, "he was like a cheap whore with every demon lining up to get a turn on him."

With a fierce growl, John lunged forward, but only made it a few feet before he was thrown into the wall and pinned there by the same unseen force that had previously trapped Drake. Sam briefly glanced at his father to make sure he was all right then looked to Drake, and lowering his sights to the younger man's bloodied shirt, a cursed slipped past his lips.

Leveling his gun on her heart, he took a tentative step inside the cabin. "Let Drake go, Meg, he doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Don't you mean Dean?" She glanced at the gun in his hand, and laughed. "You gonna shoot me, Sam?" She looked back over her shoulder at Drake, and then her eyes sought out Sam again. "Go ahead, but the moment you do, I'll snap his neck."

"D-do it, Sammy," Drake stammered, struggling to catch his breath.

"He can't, Drake, because he doesn't have the Colt," she responded with her sights still trained on Sam. "And besides, if I kill you he won't have the chance to get rid of you himself to bring Dean back."

"He wouldn't do that," Dean hastily assured, and at nearly the same time, Sam uttered, "I'd never hurt you, Drake . . . you're my little brother, and if came down to it, I'd die for you."

"Atta boy, Sammy." With a grin spreading across his features, lighting up his eyes, Dean faded away.

"In that case," a flick of her wrist, and Sam was thrown backward into the wall, "maybe I'll just kill him and let you and John watch."

"You hurt him an' I swear I'll hunt you down an' rip you apart," John snarled, fighting to break free of the hold she had on him.

"Promises, Promises, John." With a cocky grin, she twisted around, returning her attention to Drake. "How about like mother like son, Sam?" she asked, and with a roll of her eyes toward the ceiling, Drake was dragged up off the ground and thrown to the ceiling.

"How about dead bitch on the floor," Bear snarled from the doorway, pressing the trigger on his crossbow, bolt flying to impale into Jamie's shoulder.

As a scream burst from her lips, and she swung to glare at Bear, Drake dropped back to the floor with a thud. Gripping hold of the bolt, she ripped it out of her shoulder, and threw it to the ground. In dazed horror Drake watched as Bear was lifted off his feet and thrown from wall to wall like a volleyball being pounded back and forth across a net.

Sam and John shouted at her, trying to draw her attention back to them, but her focus was solely on killing Bear. Pressing his eyes closed, he breathed a silent prayer, reached into the pocket of his cargo pants, and yanked out the demon knife he'd stolen from Sam. Body trembling, he dragged himself to his feet, staggered briefly and then lunged at her. He'd meant to stab her in the shoulder, had purposely aimed to wound but not kill her then at the last second she shifted and the blade embedded deeply into her back.

Like a light bulb shorting out, she lit up, flickering as a scream tore from her lips. As she dropped to the ground, Sam, John and Bear followed her, all landing in heaps on the floor.

"J-Jamie?" Falling to his knees beside her, he pulled her into his arms, and fingers wrapping tightly around the knife, yanked it out of her body. "Oh, God, what did I do . . . I-I . . . God, Jamie, I'm so sorry."

"D-don't be s-sorry, Drake." Jamie's eyes fluttered open, and she slowly lifted a shaky hand to lightly caress his cheek. She drew in a staggering breath. "Y-you s-saved me . . . don't ever be sorry fer doin' what was r-right."

"Don't leave me, Jamie." He hugged her tightly to his chest. "I love you so much . . . so damn much, so you can't leave me."

"Y-you have ta stop 'em . . . do that fer m-me." She gasped, struggling to draw in another breath. "Don't le' 'em h-hurt anyone else . . . ."

"I won't – I swear I won't." Pulling back slightly, he gently kissed her and tasted her blood on his lips. "I need you to know something, so don't leave me yet, okay." Eyes fluttering closed, she gave a nod. "That night I came to your house – I-I wanted to ask you to marry me, but I was afraid, an' I messed up, but I never stopped loving you . . . ."

"I-I would've s-said yes," she breathed in a faint whisper, and then with more shallow breath, her head lolled to the side.

Tears falling unabashedly down his cheeks, he pulled her tightly to him. "Come on, baby, wake up for me . . . please wake up – Come on, lemme see those beautiful eyes again . . . jus' lemme see 'em one more time . . . ."

"Drake," came Sam's voice from behind him, and too dazed to stop him, he allowed the older man to pull him away from Jamie's body. "I gotcha, lil' brother." Sam pulled him into a tight embrace, and laying his head against the hollow of his neck, Drake sobbed brokenheartedly as he stared at the blood pooling around Jamie's body.

"I-I killed her, S-Sammy," through blurred vision, Drake glanced down at his blood stained hand, "I didn't mean to . . . I loved her . . . God, I loved her so much."

"Get him out here, Sam," John ordered as he strode to where Bear lay unconscious on the floor and hauled him to his feet. "Take him back to the Impala, and I'll bring his friend."

"N-no, I can't leave her." Drake twisted and squirmed in Sam's arms, but his brother's grip only tightened as he dragged him off the floor. "Don't do this, Sam . . . please, I-I have to stay with her."

"You can't stay here, Drake."

Sam gently guided him out of the cabin, through the woods, and back to the road where the Impala was parked. John emerged from the woods a few minutes later with Bear. Gary had caught up with them, and had helped John maneuver the unconscious man through the forest, and together they laid him in the back seat of the Chevelle.

"How is he?" Sam asked when his father came to stand beside him.

"He's pretty banged up, an' will need some stitches, but I don't think anything is broken." With a weary sigh, he glanced inside the Impala at Drake then looked back to Sam. "You should find a place to stay, and get them fixed up," he hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the cabin, "Bobby and I can take care of this."

"Alright." Sam gave a curt nod. Although he'd never liked the idea of salting and burning a fresh corpse, it would have been far more preferable than to see the deep ache and loss in Drake's eyes. No words would make everything all right for his little brother even though he would have given everything he had to take away his pain. "I'll give you a call to tell you where we're staying."

"Gary," John called out to the firefighter turned hunter, "you can't take him to the hospital, there'd be too many questions, so follow Sam and he'll get him fixed up."

"No, I don't live far from here, he can follow me back to my place," Gary responded, and without giving John a chance to argue, he slid behind the wheel of the Chevelle, and shut the door.

"Sam –"

"I'm going to follow him," Sam cut his father before he could give him an order to find a motel. The very last thing he wanted to do at the moment was be alone with his brother, and was more than grateful that Gary had offered an alternative. "Give me a call when you're done here and I'll give you directions."

John hesitated several long moments before he finally conceded with a curt nod, and not giving him a chance to change his mind, Sam slid into the driver's seat, shut the door and took off.

Gary's home sat at the top of a hill, situated well away from the road, and was hidden from view on one side by a forest of pine trees. A spring-fed pond sat off to the side of the house and behind his home Sam noticed another forest. The home itself was shaped almost like a V but a large room jutted out at one of the sides and from the looks of it, it had been a large mobile home at one point but someone had built on a huge addition.

"My dad liked to build," Gary supplied when he noticed Sam looking the place over, and with a chuckle went on to add, "do you have any idea how loud an electric table saw, hammering or drilling sounds at four in the morning after you've been out drinking until three?" With another laugh, he answered his own question, "It's loud."

His gaze ticked from Drake to Bear, fearing he'd made the wrong decision in coming to Gary's place instead of finding a motel. "Your parents still live here?"

"No, they moved to some retirement community in Florida a few years ago back, an' I bought the place from them."

With a sigh of relief Sam helped Drake into Gary's house and then went back outside to help Gary get the bigger man out of the backseat of the Chevelle. "How tall is he actually?" Sam couldn't help but ask, knowing at six feet four inches, he towered over most people, but Bear had at least a couple inches on him.

"Freakishly tall," Gary chuckled, wrapping an around his friend's waist. "I think around six feet six."

"Damn, and I thought I was tall."

"Yeah, but don't mention it to him – you know how girls get all freaked out when you ask them about their weight," he waited until he saw Sam nod, "well, that's how Bear is about his height except they don't have huge fists like he does . . . so it's actually best not to bring it up especially if he's been drinking."

"Gotcha."

Between the two of them, Sam and Gary got Bear inside the house, stitched up his wounds, and put him to bed in one of the spare bedrooms. Gary stayed with him, and Sam went to find his brother. At first he couldn't find him, and fear fluttered uncomfortably within his stomach at the thought that he might have snuck away while they were taking care of Bear. After checking every room on the main level of Gary's house, he went down the steps that led into the built on addition, stopping short when he noticed Drake huddled on the floor between the couch and the wall. With knees drawn close to his chest, arms folded over them, he rested his head on them as his body trembled. Although he was trying his best to hide the sound of it, he was crying.

"Drake," he called out, taking a tentative step toward the younger man. "I have to clean and stitch your wounds before they get infected."

"Go away, Sam," he said without lifting his head.

"I can't do that." Closing the gap between them, Sam crouched beside his brother, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "This isn't your fault, Drake. Meg would have killed Bear and then she would have killed you – she didn't leave you with a choice in the matter."

"And that makes it alright?" He raised his head, and swiped a hand across his cheek to brush away the tears streaking them. "Kill or be killed – I was raised to believe you save lives, you don't take them, and if that's what you really believe I don't want anything to do with you."

"I'm not saying I like it, but sometimes you have to kill things to save lives, Drake. You didn't kill Jamie or her family – Meg did, and I won't let you take the blame for that."

"You can say whatever you wanna say, Sammy, but that doesn't change the fact that the knife was in my hand . . . and I would've rather she'd killed me than the other way around."

"I'd never let that happen."

"Why?" Drake lifted a brow and gave him a look that was so reminiscent of one Dean might have given when his heart was shattered, that tears filled Sam's eyes. "Because you think I'm Dean?"

"No," he shook his head, "because you're my little brother, Drake, and it's my job to protect you."

"If you're really my brother then I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Take me to the police station so I can turn myself in," he paused and licked at his lips before he went on to say, "I wanna pay for what I've done, Sammy . . . so, please, just take me there."

"I can't do that." His hand tightened protectively around his brother's shoulder as he searched for the right words to say to him. Tears slid down his cheeks as he recalled the unbearable pain he'd felt when Jessica had died, and couldn't even begin to imagine how much worse it would feel if he'd been the one to take her life. The closest thing he had to compare with how Drake must be feeling was when he'd had to kill Madison, but even though he'd liked her it wasn't the same kind of love he'd felt for Jessica, so he was certain it paled in comparison to what Drake was feeling at the moment. "You didn't kill anyone, Drake. Meg did this and I won't let you take the blame for it."

Drake held out his trembling hands, and turned them over so Sam could see the blood staining them. "If sh-she killed Jamie, why's her blood on my hands?"

"I was there, Drake, she didn't blame you – she thanked you for saving her." Sam narrowed his eyes on his brother, unsure he was getting through to him, but had to keep going, praying he was saying the right things. "She asked you to stop them from hurting anyone else, and you swore to her that you would – she believed you . . . I saw it in her eyes, and she died happy knowing you loved her in the same way she loved you."

"How am I supposed to keep that promise to her, Sam?" Rubbing at the moisture in his eyes, he bit at his lower lip, and looked to Sam for the answers he needed. "I'm not like you – I'm just a small town firefighter . . . I can't fight the things you fight."

"I can teach you if you'll let me."

"The way Dean taught you?" Suspicion filled his teary eyes, and he pushed away from Sam.

With a wan smile, Sam nodded. "Yeah, the way Dean taught me."

"Even if I let you teach me what you know, I'm still never going to be him, Sammy." Pushing a little further away, he raked a hand through his disheveled hair. "I swear I've tried considering the possibility that it's true, but if it is I should have some memory of you, but I don't. I only have my memories, and they don't include you."

Sam's heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach, but he forced a smile. "I don't care if you have Dean's memories, you're still my brother, and I'm going to keep saying it until you finally believe it."

"Alright," he gave a nod, "Then teach me to be a hunter, Sam."


	27. Chapter 27

Hey all, thanks again for reading and for all the really great reviews. I truly appreciate every single one of them! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-seven_

Sam stormed into Gary's kitchen, and dropped down onto a chair beside his father. "He's gone again," he growled, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. "How am I supposed to teach him to be a hunter if he keeps taking off on me?"

Of course he'd never admit his real fears, the ones that kept him awake at night, tossing and turning instead of sleeping. Ever since Jamie's death and subsequent funerals for all his friends, Drake had fallen deeper and deeper into a dark depression and every time Sam couldn't find him he feared his little brother might be off getting high to numb himself from the pain.

"Bear and Gary are with him," John replied after taking a sip of his coffee. "They won't let him out of their sights, Sam."

"He's always with Bear and Gary," he grumbled under his breath then cursed at how jealous he sounded. He knew he had no right to be jealous; Drake had been friends with them since he was a little kid so it only stood to reason he would prefer their company over Sam's. "Maybe you should talk to him, dad."

"Believe me I've tried, but somehow it always rounds back to him saying I'm not his father so he doesn't have to listen to me." With a weary sigh, he looked away from Sam and stared out the large window overlooking the front yard. "I don't know what to do, Sam," he reluctantly admitted, "I look at him and in my heart I know and feel that he's my son, but he already has a father . . . and I hate the man with every fiber of my being, and even more so when Drake throws it in my face." As he drew in an unsteady breath, he rubbed at the moisture gathering in his eyes. "Every damn day I force myself to stay here in the hopes he'll remember something or I'll remember something and we'll be father and son again, but it's not going to happen and we both know it."

"I'm sorry." So wrapped up in his own anger, fears and frustrations, Sam hadn't even considered how much harder it must have been on his father. At least he had his memories of Dean to rely on and didn't have Jake to compete with for his brother's attention. John had nothing more to go on than his faith and a gut feeling Drake was his son, and had it been Sam in his same position he probably would have already left. "You can't leave though, dad, because whether he knows it or not, Drake still needs you."

"I'm not going anywhere." He met and held Sam's gaze. "I know I haven't been the father I could've been if your mother was still alive, and I've always regretted that. But all I ever wanted to do is protect you . . . I wanna protect Drake, too, and it's killing me inside that he'd rather push me away than give me a chance."

"I think he's trying – hell, he moved in here with us when he didn't have to so maybe he just needs time to work things through," Sam said although he knew they didn't have the time it would take to become a family again.

"He didn't do that for us, Sam, he moved in here because he's afraid something's going to happen to his family if he stays with them." Pushing his chair back away from the table, John took to his feet and headed toward the door. "I'm going to head outside and help Bobby work on fixing Gary's four wheeler. Maybe between the two of us we can get it running again. You should probably go find your brother."

Although John had tried to phrase it as a suggestion, Sam heard the commanding order in his tone, and cringed even has he got to his feet to do as his father had requested. "Do you have any idea where they might've gone?"

"Yeah, Gary mentioned something about practicing for the rodeo tomorrow night, so you should be able to find them at the arena just outside of Prattsburgh."

"Great," Sam groaned as he slid out of his chair to follow his father outside, "I'm supposed to be teaching him to hunt and he's off bull riding with his buddies."

Sam found Drake and his friends at the rodeo arena as his father had predicted, and seeing Bear standing in the stands with his arms folded across his chest as he watched Drake getting ready to ride the hulking bull, he lumbered over to him. "Where's Gary?" he asked narrowing his eyes on his little brother, and cursed under his breath as he watched him try to stay seated on the penned bull as it thrashed and bucked.

"You see that guy out there with the painted face, baggie pants with red bandanas hanging off them, suspenders and cowboy hat," he pointed toward at the man walking away from the middle of the arena and toward the bull pen, "that's Gary."

"What's he doing?" Even from where he was standing, Sam could hear Gary swearing at Drake, and by the way he was flailing his arms when he shouted, Sam could tell he was furious.

"Well, at the moment he's trying to keep Drake from getting himself killed."

"Why's Gary so pissed?" Eyes narrowed to a squint, he watched the older man yelling at Drake, but instead of listening to him, Drake shook his head and motioned for him to get out of the way.

"Drake's ridden the same bull several times now, and the bull's pissed – the last time it almost trampled Drake, and it took everything Gary and Freddie had in them to get it away from him."

"Why doesn't he get another bull to ride?"

"Because he's punishing himself." With a shake of his head, Bear heaved a sigh. "He's taken on the blame for everything that's happened, an' all that guilt burning a hole right through his gut is more than he can handle, so he's having that freakin' bull kick his ass since no one else will."

The sound of the buzzer going off effectively put an end to any more questions Sam had, and his breath caught in his throat as the bucking chute flung open and the bull stormed from the pen, bucking and twisting in an effort to throw Drake off its back. Gary and the other rodeo clown followed at a wider berth, but stayed close enough to intervene when Drake fell from atop the bull.

"Why doesn't he put his other hand down?" he uttered, eyes wide in awe as he watched the bull kick both its front and back legs off the ground and twisted in the air.

"If he touches the bull or the rope with his free hand he can be disqualified."

Heart pounding hard within his chest, Sam's mouth dropped wide open as Drake was thrown off the bull's back, but instead of landing on the ground he got caught up on the rope and the bull dragged him along as it tried to kick him off with it legs and gore him with its horns. Gary went for the bull's head, shouting and dodging its horns to distract it while the other rodeo clown worked to free Drake's hand.

Seeing Drake in trouble, Sam lunged forward to jump the fence, but Bear gripped hold of his arm. "They know what they're doing, Sam."

"I don't give a rat's ass if they know what they're doing!" Sam roughly shirked free of Bear's grasp, leapt over the fence, and made a dead run toward his brother, stopping dead in his tracks when he came almost face to face with the clown who had just managed to free his little brother's hand from the bull. Eyes locked on the clown, he couldn't move.

"What the hell are you doing, Sam?" Gary shouted, darting and zigzagging to keep the massive bull's attention on him. "Drake, get him out of here!"

"Jeez, Sammy, what the hell do you think you're doing," Drake grasped his arm, and dragged him backward toward the fence, "you know you're afraid of clowns so what the hell are you doing out here?"

"I was trying to save you."

"Did part of your crack rescue plan include staring down a scary clown while the bull gored you?"

Sam abruptly came to a grinding halt, gripped hold of Drake and swung him around. "How'd you know I was afraid of clowns?"

"You've always been . . . you must've told me."

"I never told you that."

Drake glanced over Sam's shoulder at the charging bucking bull then grabbed hold of his arm and once again dragged him toward the barricade. "This is so not the time to argue over something you clearly told me."

Together they scrambled over the fence and flopped down on the other side with Sam gasping for breath and Drake laughing – actual gut-busting laughter like the way he'd laughed with his friends the first day Sam had met him at the grape festival. "Dude, you should've seen your face when Freddie turned around and you got a good look at his clown makeup – one word comes to mind – priceless!" With another chuckle, he rolled on his side, and tugged at Sam's flannel shirt. "And the next time you think of jumping in to save me from a bull . . . don't wear red, it kinda makes you the target."

Sam tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it. Drake may have been acting like he was enjoying himself, and he might have smiled and laughed, yet he hadn't fooled Bear or Gary and he definitely didn't fool Sam. It was the same old 'I'm okay' facade he'd seen Dean pull on him more times than he cared to remember. His little brother was laughing and joking, and doing everything he thought made him seem normal and happy, but the broken, hollow look in his eyes instantly gave him away.

"You think this is funny?" Pushing himself into a sitting position, Sam brushed a hand through his hair, shaking free the dust from it. "That thing could've killed you."

"The bull?" Drake lifted a brow in amusement when Sam nodded. "Sammy, I've been riding bulls since I was seventeen."

"Whatever, Drake, it's still dangerous, and since I'm your big brother it's my job to protect you."

Drake broke into another fit of laughter until he noticed Sam hadn't joined in, and then it faded away. "You're actually serious with this whole 'big brother I'm gonna protect you' bullshit, aren't you?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"I'm not even gonna answer that." Bracing his hands against the ground, Drake pushed himself to his feet then reached down to take hold of Sam's hand to help him up. "Come on, let's go find you some chaps, gloves, and a cowboy hat so you can give it a go."

"I'm not riding a bull, Drake." Swatting Drake's hand away, Sam got to his feet.

"Sure you are." Drake grinned, and turning on his heel, he limped away before Sam could argue any further, leaving Sam with no other option but to follow him.

"I'm not doing this," Sam called out to him, but kept walking toward a large building off to the left of the arena.

"You wouldn't still be following me if you weren't going to do it," Drake called back over his shoulder.

"Drake, please, I don't know how to ride a bull . . . don't make me do this."

Stopping in his tracks, Drake swung around and headed back to Sam. "Well, I don't know how to hunt, but I trust you to teach me, so give me a little credit that I might know how to teach you something, too."

"You don't get it," Sam snapped, "it's not the bull . . . well, it is the bull, but not just that – I get out there and see those clowns, I'm gonna freeze, fall off the bull and end up trampled to death."

"I'm going to be right out there with you, Sammy, and I'd never let that happen. If I see you're in trouble, I'm gonna be right there in that bull's face . . . believe me you have nothing to worry about."

Sam glanced back at the arena, and bit at his lower lip. More than anything he wanted to say no, but Drake was asking him to trust him – it was a small step, one he was certain would crumble at the slightest provocation, but if there was chance they could build on this he had to take it. "No clown makeup – swear it."

With a grin, Drake crossed his fingers over his heart. "Cross my heart."

"And if I do this, you'll do something I want in return?" Sam knew he was pushing his luck, but if he wanted to be the same kind of big brother Dean had been he needed to work on building the bond they'd once shared.

Drake mulled his proposition over for a moment then gave a nod. "Alright, as long as it doesn't involve hunting, and it's something you've really always wanted to do but never got the chance."

Brows furrowing, Sam groaned. Leave it to his little brother to stipulate that they could do anything Sam wanted unless it involved hunting. "Drake, you don't get it, if I don't teach you everything I know, you're going to end up getting killed."

"Yeah, I get it perfectly, Sammy, but this isn't about hunting or demons, this is about you and me – so stop being a hunter for one day and just have fun."

Unwilling to back down on the matter, Drake met and held Sam's gaze, and finally Sam conceded. "I wanna go to an amusement park," he muttered, lowering his head in embarrassment, but it was something he had always wanted to do and never really got the chance to experience when he was younger.

"What did you say?" Drake asked with a grin, pretending as if he hadn't heard him.

"I said I want to go to an amusement park – ride the rides, eat cotton candy, play stupid rigged games . . . are you happy now?"

"Yeah, so stop looking so miserable, Sam, having fun every once in a while is what people are supposed to do . . . it's called living, maybe you should give it a try sometime."

SNSNSNSNSN

"Just remember everything I've told you, Sammy, and you'll do fine."

Sam tried to concentrate on everything his little brother told him to do but with his long legs straddled over a huge black bull that was already bucking and thrashing to get him off, the only thing that kept coming to mind was how he was going to explain to his father why he was in the hospital. "Keep one hand up, the other holding the rope, stay on for eight seconds . . . Drake, I can't do this."

"Sure you can," Drake smiled encouragingly, and leaning over the bucking chute he gripped hold of the rope Sam was holding onto. "Hold it like this," he demonstrated the proper grip, "there's rosin on the rope and on your glove, so it should help you keep a tighter grip." He then nudged his head toward the bull's flanks, "Use the spurs on your boots for balance, but whatever you do don't _spur_ the bull."

"Spur the bull, but don't spur the bull, gotcha." Sam rolled his eyes. _I'm so dead. Why the hell did I let him talk me into this?_

"When you're sure you're ready give a nod, and the chute will open."

"What if I accidentally nod – what if they think it's a nod, but I'm really just being jerked around by the bull and my head kinda slips looking like a nod?"

"You won't accidentally nod, Sammy." Drake twisted around and motioned for Gary and Freddie to get ready. Gary strode to the other side of the bucking chute while Drake's other friend hopped into a barrel in the middle of the arena. "Usually there's just two of us out here, but Freddie's gonna be your barrel man. So think of him as that extra knife you keep tucked in your boot for protection from whatever you're hunting."

"You ready, Sam?" Gary asked as he climbed up the fence, and double checked to make sure Sam's hold was properly secured on the rope. "Whatever you do, keep one hand in the air at all times, you touch the bull or the rope you get disqualified . . . or you would if this was a competition." Tilting his head to the side, he studied how Sam was mounted on the hulking bull. "Use your spurs, but don't _spur_ the bull."

"I already told him that."

"It still bears repeating."

"True enough."

"I'm gonna die out there, aren't I?" Sam groaned, mentally kicking himself once again for agreeing to ride a bull in hopes it would make Drake see that they were brothers.

"Probably," Gary chuckled good-naturedly. "Naww . . . I'm just kidding, you'll do fine, but if it makes you feel any better, me, Drake and Bear have been trained in basic life saving techniques, so we got it covered."

"No, for some reason that really doesn't make me feel any better about this."

"Give the nod, Sammy," Drake interjected as he readied himself to follow Sam out into the area.

With one last look at his brother, Sam tightened his hold on the braided rope, and gave a curt nod. The chute burst wide open, and the bull stormed from the gate, trashing and kicking in an attempt to buck Sam off. Heart pounding wildly within his chest, he held his breath. Everything around him blurred. Beneath him, he could feel the raw power of the bull as it kicked its back legs off the ground while twisting at the same time, but he held firm to the rope. It was terrifying but at the same time utterly exhilarating, almost like the high he got from drinking demon blood.

The bull reared up, abruptly kicking up both its front and back legs as it twisted and rolled its body, and fingertips slipping from the rope, Sam flew up in the air, and landed with a thud on the dusty ground. Eyelids squeezed shut, and the wind knocked from him, he struggled to drawn in a breath, but hadn't quite managed it before Drake was hauling him to his feet.

"Move, Sammy!" he ordered, pushing him toward the protective barricade before turning back to taunt the bull into following him instead of Sam.

It was such a Deanlike gesture, putting himself in harm's way to protect Sam from danger, Sam couldn't move – couldn't breathe – he just stood in awe watching as his little brother led the bull toward the exit chute. No matter if his name was Dean or if it was Drake, he was the same person. And in everything he said and everything he did, he proved it over and over again to Sam.

After they locked the bull away, Drake raced across the arena, launched himself in the air, and grabbed Sam into a bear hug, tackling the two of them to the ground. "7.2 seconds, Sammy! Completely awesome first ride . . . next time you'll make it to eight seconds, I'm sure of it."

"Never said I'd do it again," Sam grumbled, although his wide grin belied the feigned annoyance in his tone.

"Come on, Sam, tell me you had a good time," Drake's green eyes turned pleading, almost as if he were searching for a common ground on which they could stand, "I argued with John, telling him he didn't know you as well as he thought he did – I told him you wanted and needed some fun in your life, too, but he was all hunting is everything . . . so I told him to go screw himself, and that we were going to have some real fun even if it killed you."

Sam opened his mouth to agree with his father, something he thought he'd never do, but seeing a spark of Dean in Drake's eyes, he uttered, "It was one of the best times I've ever had – now get off me."

Once on his feet, Drake helped Sam up, and the two of them walked back to the fence and hopped over it. "So do you have any money on you, Sammy?" Drake asked, swatting the dust off his chaps.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, it costs money to get into Darien Lake, and since that's where we're headed next, we need it."

"Drake," Sam sighed heavily, "we really have to get back so I can start teaching you to hunt."

"You wanted to be friends, Sam," he looked to Sam and Sam nodded, "well, this is what friends do – they blow off doing stuff sometimes, kick back an' have a good time."

"Fine," Sam conceded with a huff, "but tomorrow we start training."

"I can't do it tomorrow, dude, it's the rodeo."

"How about the day after tomorrow?"

"My band's playing over in Wayland."

Sam understood what his little brother was trying to do, and couldn't really blame him. If he committed himself to becoming a hunter that would make everything he'd seen and done real, and it terrified him. And just as Dean had always done, he was burying his pain so no one would see how badly he was hurting, but he was only fooling himself. "And the day after that? Do you have some reason why that day won't be good for you either?"

"Yeah, I have a training exercise I have to go to for the fire department."

"I know what you're doing, Drake, and it's not going to work." Narrowing his eyes on his brother, Sam pursed his lips and shook his head. "So if you really do have all these things you have to do, we're still going to train even if it means I have to wake you up at four in the morning to do it."

"You wouldn't – "

"Oh, hell yeah I would."

"Alright, we'll start tomorrow." Muttering under his breath, Drake turned on his heel and headed inside to shower and change.

SNSNSNSNSN

The ungodly long two hour drive to Dairen Lake in silence was almost more than Sam could bear, and by the end of it he'd almost wished he'd thought to invite Gary and Bear along, then at least someone would have been having a good time. He'd also wished he hadn't brought up the subject of hunting, before that they'd been getting along fairly well, and now Drake had shut him out yet again.

"Do you really want to do this or should we turn around and go back to Gary's?" Sam asked as he waited to pay for their tickets.

"No, you wanted to go to an amusement park, so we're going to an amusement park."

"It's not a big deal, Drake. I've gone twenty-seven years without going on a rollercoaster, and I don't really feel like I've missed out on anything, so let's go."

"Now we definitely have to go in because anyone who thinks riding the Man of Steel isn't a big deal has never ridden the Man of Steel."

"You do know that sounded vaguely dirty, right?"

Drake rolled his eyes. "I didn't name it that, Sammy, I just ride the ride like everyone else."

Once inside the park, Drake pointed out a ride that shot people three hundred feet in the air in a round ball contraption then it bounced up and down until it finally came to a stop, and they were lowered back to the ground. "Just so you know I'm so not going on that ride or the Skycoaster. So if you really feel the need to try either ride, you're going to have to find yourself a riding buddy or go it alone."

Sam shielded his eyes and glanced up at the giant ball bouncing around, and grinned. "You're afraid of flying, aren't you?"

"No, Sam, I'm not afraid of flying, I am however deathly afraid of crashing . . . and seriously what if one of those bungees breaks – those people are pancakes, dude, an' I truly don't wanna be a pancake."

"Dean said he wasn't afraid of flying either, it was the crashing part that scared him, too."

Drake paused in his steps and grasped hold of Sam's arm. "Just for one day can you please stop looking for Dean in me? Even if I'm not him I'm still a good person, Sam, so why can't you just like me for who I am?"

"I'm trying, Drake, I really am, but when I look at you I see Dean, and it's really hard to look beyond that." Squeezing his eyelids shut, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Maybe we should get something to eat."

"I'm not hungry, but there's a cotton candy booth right there," he motioned toward the food vendor, "and down the strip a ways there's a dippin' dots stand which you really have to try to truly appreciate."

"Dippin'dots?"

"Little frozen balls of ice cream that are amazingly good," Drake explained as he waved a hand toward another food vendor, "or if you're a funnel cake kinda guy, that's right over there."

"What about beer? They have beer, right?" Sam asked, figuring if they both had a couple of drinks maybe they might both loosen up enough to have a halfway decent time together.

"Yeah, there's a food complex near the midway, they have beer there." Drake hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "Look, I'm gonna run to the bathroom, so order me a drink and I'll meet you there in a couple of minutes."

The tightening in Sam's gut instinctively warned him to stick close to his brother, but if he wanted Drake to trust him he needed to start trusting him in return. "Alright," he said, and no sooner had he spoken then Drake took off through the crowd.

Sam followed Drake's directions, moving through a sea of people, and finally came to the food complex. After he'd gotten them both a beer, he found a spot to sit and wait for Drake to return, but the longer he waited the more he berated himself for leaving him behind. In a park as big as the one they'd come to, there could be any number of dangers, both supernatural and of the human variety. At the end of his patience, he pushed to his feet and was about to go searching for his brother when he spotted him walking through the crowd while talking to a couple of girls.

"Sammy." With a grin, he bobbed his head toward Sam then leaned in to whisper in one girl's ear.

"Drake, where the hell were you?" Sam asked the moment his brother reached him, and looking him in the eyes, he cursed under his breath. "Can we talk?" he asked, and giving both girls a tight-lipped smile, dragged Drake away before he could argue. As soon as they were out of earshot, he swung his brother around and looked him dead in the eyes again. "Where'd you get it from, Drake?"

Splaying his arms out to the side, Drake shrugged innocently. "Where did I get what from?"

"Whatever you took – where'd you get it from?"

"Would you just relax?" A lazy smile curled on Drake's lips as he waved his arms around at all the different rides and attractions. "I wanted to have fun, Sammy, we weren't havin' fun, so when I saw a buddy of mine an' . . . you know this isn't a big deal, right?"

"No, it's not a big deal." Sam pivoted on his heel, and pointed to the Seacoaster. "How about we go on that ride first?"

Tilting to the side to look at the people sailing through the air in a wide arching motion, suspended by nothing more than a bungee cords and body harnesses, he bobbed his head. "Sounds cool. Let's do it."

"You stupid sonuvabitch," Sam growled, shaking his head in disgust and overwhelming disappointment.

"What are you so pissed about? I brought you back a girl – the brunette, she thinks you're hot so it's all good."

"What about Jamie?" Sam asked, folding his arms across his chest. He knew it was a low blow, but he didn't know what else to say to make Drake realize how screwed up he really was.

"Don't, Sammy." Hands curling into fists, he glared at Sam. "This has nothing to do with her."

"It has everything to do with her," he shouted, not caring who heard him, "you're hurting so damn bad, but you're trying to bury it or numb it away, but it's going to end up tearing you apart inside . . . you did the same damn thing when dad died, Dean, and I can't stand by and watch you do it again."

"You know this is different, Sam, dad sold his – " voice trailing off abruptly, Drake turned his back on Sam. "I wanna go home."


	28. Chapter 28

Thanks to everyone who is reading and for all the truly awesome reviews. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-eight_

Drake saying he wanted to go home was one thing, actually getting him into the Impala was quite another thing altogether. Whatever he had taken really kicked in about halfway back to the car, making it almost impossible for him to keep upright on his feet, and had it not been for Sam helping him, he probably would've dropped to the ground and stayed there as people milled past or trampled over him.

Sam set him on the passenger's seat, checked his pulse, and swore under his breath when he felt how fast and erratic his heart was beating. Gripping hold of Drake's shirt, he yanked him toward him. "What'd you take, Drake? I need to know so tell me what you took!"

Drake blinked hard then tried to focus glassy, watery eyes on Sam. "M'okay, Sammy, so stop worrin'."

"You're not okay," Sam hissed, angrily pushing him back against the seat, "you couldn't even make it back here to the car without help, so either you tell me what you took or I'm driving you to a hospital."

"M'mm not goin' to a hospital."

"You lost any choice you had in the matter a long time ago back, lil' brother." Slamming the door shut, Sam rushed around to the driver's side and got in. As he drove back to Naples, he kept a constant eye on his brother, stomach churning as he saw him fidget restlessly in his seat. "Can't you see what this is doing to you?" he asked as he waited to pay for the thruway toll, shifting in his seat to look at Drake. "It's killing you in leaps and bounds, and I can't let that happen to you."

"What do you care, Sammy – I killed your brother . . . took his soul from him. I'd think you'd be happy if I died."

"No, I wouldn't," he replied as he pulled forward to pay the toll booth operator, and noticing Drake digging his fingertips into his chest, sped away without waiting for his change. "What happened to Dean wasn't your fault, so if you think it is and that's why you're so hellbent on putting yourself in a drug induced coma . . . just don't do that to me, please. I couldn't take it if you ended up like Dean."

"But if I die, he could come back, Sam . . . what if he could come back? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad," he uttered, gasping for breath as he dug his nails deeper into his chest.

"Drake, are you alright?" Sam asked heart in his throat as he watched his brother tug and claw at his damp t-shirt to get to the skin beneath.

"I can f-feel 'em squirmin' in my lungs, S-Sammy," Drake replied breathlessly, both hands now tearing at his shirt to get to whatever he thought was inside his lungs. "Can't breathe . . . th-they're burrowing . . . get 'em off me . . . ya gotta get 'em off me."

"Hang on lil' brother." Terrified, Sam gripped hold of his brother's hand, and pulled it away from his chest. "There's a service station right up the road – just hold on an' we'll stop there."

"C-can't breathe . . . gotta get out." Eyes fearfully wide, Drake reached for the door handle, but Sam hastily caught hold of his other arm and yanked it away from the door. "Le' go," he gasped, jerking his arm backward, but Sam held firm to it, and the car swerved hard to the right nearly going off the road before he regained control and veered back into his lane.

"You stupid sonuvabitch, you're gonna get us both killed," Sam growled, anger momentarily overriding his fear.

Sam pulled off at the Pembroke Service Area, drove to the far back corner of the lot and parked the Impala. Out of the car in a shot, he rushed to Drake's door, flung it open and helped his brother out of the car. "Just breathe, Drake," he uttered, heart hammering away in his ears, "slow, easy breaths. You're going to be okay, you just have to relax and breathe."

"C-can't," Drake rasped, clutching at the leather band around his neck, and as he pulled out the charm to grasp hold of it, Sam's eyes widened as he saw Dean's amulet dangling from the strap.

"H-help m-me, Sammy . . . th-they're crawlin' inside o' me . . . ." His voice trailed as he struggled to draw in another breath.

Glancing over his shoulder, Sam noted all the people coming and going from the service area along with two police cars parked near the gas pumps, and then looked toward the woods behind the rest stop. "I'm gonna help you, lil' brother, but you need to walk for me, okay?" He bobbed his heads toward the forest. "We just have to make it to those trees over there." He wrapped an arm around his brother's waist, and half-dragged half-carried him into the forest then set him down on a rotted, fallen log near a wide creek, and crouched in front of him.

"Listen to me, Drake. I'm gonna take care of you, an' you're gonna be okay," he uttered, cursing at how terrified his tone sounded even to his own ears. The truth was he had no idea what he was doing or if Drake would be all right. He'd witnessed people taking drugs before, but had never seen someone have a bad trip, and didn't have the first clue how to help him through it.

Noting the fine sheen of sweat on his brother brow, Sam got to his feet and headed to the creek. He shrugged out of his flannel, dunked it in the cool water, wrung it out then headed back to his brother and took a seat beside him. Drake flinched and jerked away from him as he gently rubbed the cold cloth against his heated skin. "I know it's cold, but I promise it'll make you feel better."

"Mm's-sorry, Sammy . . . ne'er meant ta hur' ya," he slurred, licking at his blue-tinged lips. "M'sorry I s-stole yer brother from ya."

Hearing what his brother had said, and watching him dig at his chest with one hand while clutching tightly to Dean's amulet with the other, tears stung at Sam's eyes."You didn't steal anything from me, Drake, you are my brother."

"Ya d-don – " Drake's voice abruptly died away as his shoulders drooped and head lolled forward, and had it not been for Sam grabbing a hold of him, he would have fell face first into the muddy ground.

"Drake!" Sam shouted, shaking his brother when he failed to respond. "Come on, Drake, don't do this to me!" Laying him flat on the ground, he quickly pressed two fingers to the side of his throat, searching for a pulse, but couldn't detect one. "No. No. No. No. Don't you do this to me. Don't you die on me – You hear me, Drake?" He gripped hold of his brother's shirt and yanked him forward. "You are not dying on me!"

"If you don't start doing something to help him, he will die on you, Sam," came Castiel's voice from behind him, and startled, Sam jumped. The angel stepped forward, crouched beside Drake, and placed two fingers on his forehead. "Just like you're addicted to demon's blood, he's an addict – they know this. They will use it against both of you. So you need to stop it now."

"What'd you do to him?" Sam asked, checking his brother's pulse, and then peeling back one of his eyelids, watched as his eyeball rolled backward. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Angel induced coma," Castiel replied as he got to his feet, and brushed the mud off his trench coat. "Basically, I put all his major organs on bypass until the drug is out of his system – a temporary fix which will give you and your father time to start detox."

"Why can't you just make him stop taking drugs? Wouldn't that be easier?"

"For better or worse, these are the choices he made, and I cannot interfere with them."

"I don't know how to help him."

"Dean didn't know how to help you either, Sam," Castiel was quick to remind him, "but you have your own experiences to draw from, so why don't you start by telling him the truth – tell him you've been where he is – and truth be known, you're still there. Stand on common ground with your brother, Sam, instead of always standing at odds with him."

"He won't understand, and he'll hate me for it."

"Maybe, but look where lying got you and Dean." He gestured around at the forest before pointing to Drake. "The lying, the sneaking around, you both forgot how to be brothers. You both were always at your strongest when you were leaning on each other for support – and you have a chance to find that again, but if you don't have trust in each other then you'll have nothing."

"I already have nothing."

"Then you have nothing to lose by listening and doing what I say."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam pressed his eyelids shut and contemplated how hard it would be to do as the angel had said. He'd done so many things wrong, so many things he could never take back no matter how hard he tried – he'd pushed Dean away, had hurt him more than he'd ever imagined possible, had destroyed their relationship because he'd chosen to listen to a demon instead of his own brother, had somewhere along the lines decided that some people were expendable in the war against evil – he'd paved his own way to Hell and all the good intentions in the world couldn't even begin to cover his blatant arrogance.

"I don't know what to do, Cas." He glanced down at his little brother, and shook his head. "I don't know how to fix what's wrong with him anymore than I know how to put an end to the Apocalypse."

"A man who stops thinking and acting as if he knows all the answers, is a man who is finally ready and able to learn from those around him." Without giving Sam a chance to respond, Castiel disappeared, leaving him once again alone with his brother.

SNSNSNSNSN

After what seemed an endless, silent drive back to Gary's place, Sam finally pulled into the gravel driveway and parked beside his father's truck. He'd called ahead to tell his father what had happened so he wasn't surprised when both Bear and Gary rushed out the side door, pushed him aside and hurried to get Drake out of the car.

"Did you do what I asked?" Sam said as he followed the two men inside the house, and saw them both nod.

"Yeah, I boarded up the windows in the back bedroom so he couldn't break them and get out," Gary called back over his shoulder, "an' Bear took out everything in the room except for the mattress."

"What about my dad and Bobby?"

"They're just finishing up painting those weird symbols on the ceiling," Bear muttered before cursing at Gary as they both tried to maneuver through the narrow hallway at the same time. "Lemme take him."

Gary looked as if he might argue, but then with a shrug relinquished his hold on Drake and Bear hefted him into his arms and carried him the rest of the way. "So you're dad said they were making the room a safe room – I'm assuming that means from demons, and I kinda understand the salt lining the windows and doors, but what's that huge symbol they're painting on the ceiling for?"

"It's a devil's trap," Sam replied with a heavy sigh. "A demon won't go past it or it'll be trapped inside of it."

"Gotcha."

With head lowered as he entered the back bedroom, Sam noted another devil's trap painted across the threshold of the doorway, half on the floor in the hallway, and the other half on the bedroom floor, assuring no demon would cross the line to get to Drake.

Bear carefully set Drake on the bed, and then looked to Sam. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" he asked as his gaze ticked back to his best friend. "I mean, I know he needs help, but maybe we should be taking him to a hospital instead of trying to do it ourselves."

"If we take him to the hospital, he'll never make it out of there alive."

"If we mess up, he could die, Sam, so you'd better be damn well sure this is the only way to keep him safe – cuz I swear to God, if he dies I'll be taking it out on you."

"What Bear's trying to say is that it's gonna get really bad, and we have no idea what we're doing," Gary interjected, earning himself a glare from the bigger man. "So you'd better know what you're doing, Sam."

"No, I meant exactly what I said – something happens to Drake, an' you'd better be gone before I can get a hold of you."

"I'm not going to let anything happen to him," Sam vowed, standing his ground as Bear roughly pushed past him.

"Looks like you're doing a bang up job so far," he called back over his shoulder.

"Do you know what he took, Sam?" John asked, pausing for a moment from his work to safeguard the room, and Sam noticed Gary linger at the doorway to hear his response.

"No," he shook his head, "he said he had to go to the bathroom, so I went to get us a couple of beers, and when he finally returned he was stoned."

"So Cas did this to him?" Bobby interjected, waving a hand toward Drake's unconscious form, and when Sam nodded he went on to ask, "When's he supposed to wake up?"

"I don't know." Temples throbbing, Sam could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. He could feel the weight of everyone's stares on him, all wanting answers to their questions, and he felt as if he were drowning within his own doubts and uncertainty. "Cas wasn't all that clear with the details of when he would wake up – but he did say we needed to do something now before it was too late to save Drake."

"It's going to get real bad, Sam." With a heavy sigh, John ticked his gaze between Sam and Drake. "Why the hell didn't Cas use some of his angel mojo on him to get him clean?"

"He said something about choices we make and not being able to interfere."

"But he already interfered by putting him out cold," Bobby said, and John nodded in agreement. "Why make him suffer more if he doesn't have to?"

"I dunno." With a shrug, Sam peered down at Drake one last time and with tears stinging at his eyes, headed for the door. "I need some air."

"Wait up, Sam," Gary said, following him through the house, "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Gar, I'm really not in the mood to be threatened by any more of Drake's friends," Sam responded without slowing his pace, but Gary still followed him out of the house and across the yard.

"I'm not gonna threaten you, so slow down before I have to kill you." Gary chuckled. "Alright, maybe just one threat, but that's the only one, I promise." When Sam turned to glare at him, he grinned and crossed his fingers over his heart, and folding two fingers down, he held up his index, middle and ring fingers. "Scouts honor – which would probably mean a helluva lot more if I was ever actually a scout, but the peace symbol really didn't seem to apply and I'm not sure if hunters have some sort of secret code symbol they use to sign to each other in these instances."

"What the hell do you want, Gary?"

"I wanted to know if you were Jake – Drake always said his brother would come back for him, and here you are." He waved a hand at Sam. "And no matter how I try to add up your motives for wanting to protect Drake – and also after seeing my friends turned into demons . . . well, I just need to know if you are."

"No," Sam gave a curt shake of his head, "I'm not Jake."

"Huh, I didn't think so, but I still had to ask." Gary rubbed at his jaw as he studied Sam more cloely. "You know when Drake was no more than five or six he had this stupid imaginary friend . . . Jake used to tease him mercilessly about it whenever we caught him talking to his invisible friend, and I gotta admit it was pretty damn funny – but Drake would get so mad and storm away – "

"Is there a point to this story," Sam huffed, folding his arms across his chest. "And if so can you get to it sometime tonight?"

"Dramatic buildup, Sammy," Gary's grin widened as he good-naturedly clapped Sam on the shoulder. "No, I'm just kidding," he added clearing his throat when Sam's scowl deepened, "it's just that there was this one time after Jake died when Drake got so damned stoned, and he was going on and on about his brother coming back for him, and he said he'd know him when he saw him – an' then the day at the grape festival when he saw you . . . I don't know, it's like he knew it an' I knew it, too."

"But I already told you I'm not Jake, so what does this –"

"I know, but you're his brother, aren't you?"

Brows furrowing in confusion, Sam's narrowed his eyes on the older man. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Alright, let me put this another way – are you Dean?" he asked, and when Sam's eyes widened in incredulous shock, he shrugged. "Huh, guess not then."

"How do you know about Dean?"

"Weren't you listening to the story at all?" Gary heaved an exasperated groan. "Dean – Drake's imaginary friend . . . he always made up these wild stories about how Dean hunted demons and chased away the bad things that lived in his closet and under the bed – and then well, you showed up . . . an' you hunt demons, so I just thought . . . forget it, it's stupid, an' from the way you're looking at me, I must've totally gone off the deep end."

"Dean's my brother," Sam breathed, glancing back toward the house, but visualizing Drake and all the times he'd denied being Dean.

"Okay, so totally wasn't expecting that answer." Fidgeting uncomfortably, Gary kicked a stray stone into the pond as a brief silence fell between them. "See, you were supposed to say I was buckets of crazy, we'd laugh it off, an' go back inside, but you went an' ruined it." He scratched at the back of his head, and Sam could tell by the bewildered look in his hazel eyes that he was trying to wrap his head around the idea of Drake having visions of Dean. "So what does this all mean?" he finally blurted out. "If Dean's a real person, why was Drake having these . . . I don't even know what to call them – dude, is your life always this complicated?"

"I don't know why Drake was having visions of Dean when he was a little kid . . . I'm really not sure of anything anymore."

"Well, where is your brother?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Sam muttered, scrubbing a hand across his face.

"Sam, I fought off a butt-load of demons with crossbow and a water gun – so do I really seem like the kind of guy who wouldn't believe anything you told me?"

"Alright," Sam gave a curt nod, "you wanna know the truth – Drake is Dean . . . Lucifer and Michael ripped out my brother's soul, took it back through time, and gave it to Drake."

"Ookay," Gary's eyes widened considerably, "an' by Lucifer we're actually talking about the same Lucifer who is," he pointed at the ground, and Sam nodded, "an' Michael would be," Sam pointed toward the sky, "huh, guess that make us well an' truly fucked then, right?"

"You could say that."

"Dude, I think I'm gonna need a beer or twelve." As Gary shifted his gaze to look at the back corner of the house a worried frown furrowed on his brow. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe you could leave – maybe you should leave."

A wry smile pulled at Sam's lips, happy that Drake had friends who cared so deeply for him, but at the same time brokenhearted for the same exact reason. "I would if I thought they would leave him alone to live his life, but they won't."

"How bad is this going to get?"

"End of the world bad."

"Somehow that's exactly what I'd thought you'd say." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he gave a nod. "Alright, so how do we stop them?"

Sam cocked a brow. "We?"

"Yeah. We, as in I'd never let Drake face this alone, and I doubt Bear would either."

"They'll kill you," Sam said, hoping to sway him into changing his mind.

"I face dying every time I enter a burning building, Sam, so if you're trying to scare me, you'll have to do better than that."

"They'll go after your family."

"They already have."

"We're gonna lose."

"Only if you let them win." Seemingly unafraid, Gary grinned. "When you fight a fire, Sam, you attack it from several different angles – some inside, some out – others on the roof . . . no one person or job is any more important than another in stopping a fire from spreading. I guess what I'm trying to say is that we all have our roles to play, and so I'm asking you to let me help you." Grin widening, he went on to add, "But if you say no, I'm gonna help anyways. So you might as well say yes an' save yourself the trouble."

"I'll think about it," Sam hedged hoping that if given more time to consider what he was actually asking, he'd change his mind. "We'd better get back inside."

SNSNSNSNSN

It was nearing ten o'clock at night when Sam heard the first sounds coming from the back bedroom where Drake was staying, but it wasn't until his little brother tried leaving the adjoining bathroom only to find the hallway exit boarded shut that the real shouting began. Sam had spent the better part of the evening preparing for the moment he'd have to confront his brother to explain everything to him, but still winced at the thought of facing him.

Squeezing his eyelids closed, he took several slow measured breaths to calm his nerves then pushed to his feet, filled a plate full of spaghetti for Drake, and trudged down the hallway, stopping outside the door to unlock the door. He slipped inside the bedroom, and waited until he heard the door lock behind him before lifting his head to look at his brother.

"Are you hungry, Drake?" he asked, looking Drake over from head to toe, and breathed a momentary sigh of relief when he noticed how normal he appeared, but knew it would rapidly change as withdrawal set in. "My dad made some spaghetti earlier so I brought you some."

"Why are the windows and bathroom door boarded up?" Drake snapped, ignoring the offer for dinner while narrowing green eyes on Sam. "And why the hell is the bedroom door bolted from the outside so I can't get out?"

"It was the only thing I could think to do to make sure you didn't sneak out to get high again," Sam replied as calmly as he could manage and braced himself for his brother's anger.

"You don't have any right to do this, and I'll be damned if I'm staying here!"

"I wasn't giving you a choice in the matter." He held out the plate of food to his brother. "You need to keep up your strength, so please eat your dinner." For a moment he actually thought his brother might give in and take the spaghetti when he strode forward, and reached out an arm, but at the last moment flung out his hand and smacked the plate out of Sam's grasp, spaghetti flying to cover Sam's shirt and jeans. "Or don't eat." He forced a smile as he swiped away the stringy noodles stuck to his shirt. "Either way you're not leaving here until you're clean."

"Where's Bear an' Gary?" Clenching and unclenching his fists, Drake set to pacing back and forth in front of Sam. "They won't let you keep me trapped in here, so get 'em for me now!"

"Gary's the one who boarded up the windows while Bear worked to do the same to bathroom door. So I'm pretty sure they're in agreement with me on this."

"I'm not an addict, Sam," Drake paused in his angry strides to glare at Sam, "so I get high every once in a while, loads of people do. It means nothing."

"Really?" Sam lifted a brow in disbelief. "Tell me when's the last time you went a day without getting stoned off your ass at least once?" Folding his arms across his chest, he returned his brother's hateful glare. "How about a week . . . can you even remember the last time you stayed clean for an entire week?" Drake opened his mouth as if to respond, but almost immediately snapped it shut. "That's exactly what I thought."

"The moment you open that door, I'm out of here."

"That's fine." Sam shrugged unconcernedly. "If you think you can make it past me, Bear, Gary, my dad, and Bobby, go for it."

"I'll call my dad to come an' get me." Reaching in the pockets of his pants, he fished around for his cell phone, and growled in frustration when he realized his phone was gone. "Where's my damn cell phone, Sammy?"

"Bear took it after he flushed the rest of your drugs down the toilet."

Desperately Drake researched his pockets, and tears sprung to his eyes when he couldn't find the baggie of drugs he'd stashed in them. "You have no idea what that cost me, Sam!"

"No, I don't," Pursing his lips, Sam shook his head, "an' I don't wanna know seein' as how you never have a damn dime to your name to pay for it with."

"It's not what you're thinking." Anger momentarily dissipating, Drake sunk down onto the mattress, and bowed his head. "I swear it's not."

"Drake, I'm never going to ask you how you paid for the drugs you've been taking – but it is ending now."

"When you realize you're wrong about this, Sam, I want you to leave and never come back."

"If I am wrong, I will leave an' you'll never see me again," Sam vowed, and with head hung low he turned on his heel and headed out of the room.

SNSNSNSNSN

"You look like hell, Sam, you really need to get some sleep," Bobby said, handed Sam a cup of strong, black coffee, and took a seat beside him at the kitchen table. "You've barely slept in three days, an' you won't be doing that boy any good if you fall flat on your face."

"I can't, not until I know he's going to be alright." Sam fell silent. His fingers tightened around his mug while he listened to Drake's screams for help, but he stayed rooted to his spot even though every ingrained instinct had him wanting to rush to his little brother's rescue. Bear and Gary were with him at the moment, and he could hear them trying to calm him down, yet for all their efforts, Drake still screamed and cried, begging them to stop the things from crawling beneath his skin. "I should get back in there."

"No," Bobby gripped hold of Sam's arm as he tried to stand, "if you're not going to get sleep at least drink your coffee before you head back in there."

"It's so bad, Bobby," Sam raked a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, "I didn't think it be so damn bad." Between the wild hallucinations, tremors, paranoia, racing heartbeat, sweats and chills, he feared his brother would lose his mind or die before his withdrawal subsided. "I should have checked him into a hospital – we don't know what we're doing . . . what if his heart gives out and he dies?"

"You'd never let that happen, Sam," came John's voice, and Sam turned to see his father standing in the doorway, wearing the leather jacket he'd given to Dean when he was younger. "He's going to pull through this, and he's going to remember he's Dean."

"What are you going to give him an order to get better, Dad?" Sam snapped irritably. "Maybe you haven't been paying attention when you're in there with him, but the stench in the air is from him puking his guts out over and over again. And the cuts and scratches all over his arms and chest are from him trying to get at the things he thinks are burrowing into his skin . . . he's a helluva long way from getting better, so stop acting like this is just going to go away."

Sam abruptly pushed his chair back, and got to his feet. "I have to go check on Drake." Without waiting for his father or Bobby to respond, he headed toward the back bedroom to take over watching Drake. Taking several deep breaths, he pushed open the door, and nearly gagged at the overwhelming stench of sweat, vomit and bleach cleaner filling the air. As Bear tried to keep Drake calm, talking low and reassuringly to him while he huddled trembling in the corner staring fearfully at the bigger man, Gary busied himself changing the sweat drenched bed sheets and then moved to scrub the floors.

Both men looked well beyond exhausted, faces haggard and dark smudges rimming their eyes, but neither let on that they were both about to drop over if they didn't get some sleep soon. "Why don't you two go and get some sleep, I'll stay with Drake."

Gary gave a slight nod, gathered up the dirty sheets, and made for the door, calling back over his shoulder, "I left more clean sheets in the bathroom if you need them – make sure you come and get me if things get worse."

"I will."

Bear hung back for a few moments, ticking his gaze between Drake and Sam. "I don't even think he realizes we're here with him, Sam," he muttered, tears filling his golden-brown eyes. "How the hell could he do this to himself?"

"I don't know." Watching his brother scratch furiously at his forearm, he shook his head. "Sometimes you just get so caught up in something, you don't realize how screwed you are until it's too late." As he spoke, his mind kept circling back to how he'd so easily fallen for the lies Ruby told him, and all the horrible things he'd said and done to Dean while under the influence of demon blood. He peered down at his hands, recalling how he'd almost choked the life out of his brother with them – he'd give anything to take all of those things back, but he'd never get the chance. They'd taken Dean from him, and replaced him with a naive junkie – they'd replaced him with someone more like Sam than Dean, and whereas Dean would've known how to deal with taking care of him, Sam was in way over his head.

"Are we doing the right thing?" Bear asked, breaking in on Sam's troubled thoughts. "I mean even if we get him through this, he'll more than likely go right back to getting high the moment he's alone."

"No, he won't."

"He didn't think he would go back to taking drugs after he got out of the psyche ward, but look at him now." Bear cast a tentative glance in Drake's direction and then looked back to Sam. "So how can you know this time will be any different . . . you hardly know him at all, so what makes you so sure?"

"Because I won't let him."

"You know that's exactly what I said, too," Bear gave a grim smile, and shaking his head, he headed toward the door, "but you can't argue with statistics. The odds are against him, Sam, and the fact that he really doesn't wanna quit isn't helping matters either."

"You're wrong," Sam called out to him as he walked out the door, "he may like the high he gets from being stoned, but no one wants their life to be completely destroyed by something they have no control over."

"Well, therein lies the problem, Sam," Bear replied with a heavy sigh, "there's always going to be something in life we have no control over, and unfortunately that's usually the thing that blindsides us an' knocks us to our knees . . . ." His voice trailed, and without waiting for Sam to respond, he closed the door, and walked away.

As Sam watched Drake curling his arms around his head, twining his fingers in his sweat-sodden hair, he realized Bear was right. For his father it had been when Mary died – for Dean there were many things that broke him but it had started when their father had sold his soul so he could live – and for Sam it had been losing Dean to Hell.

"I'm not gonna let this beat you, lil' brother," Sam vowed as he closed the gap between himself and his brother, and sunk to the ground to sit beside him. "You're going to get through this, Drake." Carefully he lifted an arm and wrapped it around his brother's shoulders and held him as he trembled. "If I was able to do it twice so can you."

"S-Sam," lower lip quivering, Drake peered up at Sam through glassy, red-rimmed eyes, "please, I-I need something . . . just something – anything . . . it h-hurts so damn much, Sammy . . . ya gotta help me . . . please help me."

"I can't." Sam pressed his eyelids shut, and gripped a tighter hold to his brother, recalling how he'd screamed out to Dean for help when he'd been locked away in the safe room at Bobby's house. "We're gonna get through this together – you've just got to trust me."

"Mm'gonna die . . . ." Clutching hold of Dean's amulet, Drake shuddered as tears slid down his cheeks unchecked. "Jus' give me a lil' fix an' I swear I'll s-stop . . . ."

Sam wrapped his other arm around his brother, interlocking his fingers, holding him firmly as he trembled uncontrollably. "No."


	29. Chapter 29

Thanks to everyone for reading and for all the really great and encouraging comments for my story. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twenty-nine_

With a heavy groan, Drake rubbed at his eyes then slowly pushed himself upward in bed to rest his back against the wall. Without a doubt the last two weeks of his life ranked up there as the worst he could ever recall. His body felt as if it had been forced through a meat grinder, and that probably wasn't very far from the truth.

He'd literally put Sam through hell, yet for all the horrible things he said to him, he still found the older man sitting stretched out on the floor asleep with his head resting against the wall. He'd promised he wouldn't leave, and true to his word he'd stuck around no matter how bad Drake's withdrawal from drugs got.

The sickening stench in the boarded up bedroom brought to mind how many times he'd somehow managed to throw up all over Sam, and he grimaced. Sam hadn't complained once in all those times, and his softly spoken words had been the life raft Drake had clung to when he was certain he was going to die if he didn't get a fix.

"You look like hell," Dean's voice broke in Drake's thoughts, and scanning the dimly lit room he found the older man leaning against the door.

"You don't look so good yourself," he replied in a hoarse raspy whisper, and then cast a glance in Sam's direction, fearing he would wake up.

"Don't worry about him; he's out for the count." Dean grinned, and momentarily disappearing, he reappeared at his brother's side. "He did a good job, Drake, as good as I could've done," he conceded with a wistful sigh. "He's gonna make a really great big brother if you give him a chance."

"He'd make a better little brother for you. To Sam I'm always going to be the one who stole his real brother from him." Drake ticked his gaze back and forth between the two brothers, and clearly saw all the love Dean felt for Sam reflecting in his eyes. "You have to find a way back, Dean, before I mess everything up."

"I can't." Dean ghosted his fingertips along Sam's forehead, brushing aside his shaggy bangs, and Sam sighed contentedly in his sleep. "Whether you care to believe it or not, you are me, Drake, just like I'm you. Sam knows it, and that's why he's trying so damn hard."

"But what if I don't want to be you?" Drake pushed forward in his bed, and hung his feet over the side of the mattress. "You're asking me to take your place in Sam's heart, and I won't do that to either of you."

"I'm not asking you to take my place, I'm begging you to give us a new start – things weren't exactly good between us before I . . . I want this chance, and you're the only one who can give it to me."

As if he'd heard what Dean had said, Sam mumbled his brother's name and then his eyelids fluttered open. "Drake?" Sam glanced around the room, his eyes lingering overly long on the spot where Dean sat beside him then he refocused his attention on Drake. "You alright?" he asked, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. "You're not going to be sick are you?"

"No, m'okay," he muttered, glaring at Dean briefly before he looked to Sam. "Sam, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"What were you addicted to?" The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them, seeing the looks on both Winchesters' faces, but it was too late to take them back, and truthfully he wanted to know. "You told me you went through withdrawal twice, and for some reason I get the feeling that it really messed up your relationship with Dean, so I really need to know what it was."

"Demon's blood," both Sam and Dean responded in unison, and by their equally grim expressions, Drake knew it was what had torn them apart without any need for further explanation.

Eyes downcast, Sam fell silent, but with a heavy sigh, Dean went on to say, "Sam died – he died the same day your brother did . . . not really a coincidence," he waved a hand to silence Drake as he opened his mouth to speak, "I couldn't let him stay dead, Drake, I just couldn't . . . so I made a deal – one year in exchange for his life." Pausing, he drew in a ragged breath as he rubbed at his eyes, and as he fell silent, Sam carried on with the story.

"My brother made a deal to save my life, but it cost him his own in exchange. One year," tears gathering in his eyes, Sam held up a single finger, "one freakin' year when his life was worth a million times that amount, but he took the deal anyway. So I searched and searched to find a way to break the deal – and then I met Ruby."

"Ruby?" Drake asked, eyes looking back and forth between the two of them.

"She was a demon," once again they both responded simultaneously.

"Ruby made him believe she knew a way to save me, but just like everything else she'd ever told him, it was a lie . . . then a year came due, an' I was scared out of my mind –"

"But she lied to me, and I believed her . . . I was so damn stupid, and I could see how terrified he was," Sam swallowed hard as he stared down at his hands. "He was in Hell for four months before Castiel pulled him out, and by that time I was so desperate to believe in anything if it meant getting him back, I let Ruby talk me into trying demon's blood, an' I was hooked."

"You really drank demon's blood?" Drake asked, eyes focused solely on Dean, gut clenching at the stark pain he witnessed in the eldest Winchesters' eyes, feeling it as if it were his own pain. "How could you do that, Sammy?" he asked when Sam nodded. "God, what the hell were you thinking?"

"He wanted revenge."

"I wanted revenge, and demon's blood made me feel as if I could do anything."

"But it ended up tearing you and Dean apart," Drake breathed, watching as they both nodded their heads.

"He thought he was doing the right thing," Dean hastily defended, although his tense posture and clenched fists made it clear to Drake how angry he was at Sam.

Tears slipped down Sam's cheeks unchecked as he looked to Drake for understanding and forgiveness. "I broke his heart . . . shattered it worse than when our father died or all the other bad things that had ever happened to us combined . . . an' I still held firm to the belief I was right and he didn't have a damn clue."

"We'd always lied to each other about certain things," Dean added as he wrapped a protective arm around Sam's shoulder, but if the younger Winchester felt the embrace, his expression gave nothing away. "It was easier that way, but it got harder and harder to try and pretend things were okay between us . . . an' then the trust between us was gone completely."

"I'd hurt him so damn much, Drake, an' I just wanted a chance to make things right again, but what we'd had was gone – we both knew it."

"And then I disappeared . . . ."

"And then he was gone. . . ."

"Why are you telling me this, Sam?" Drake asked, watching Dean brush away the tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Because maybe if I tell you, Dean will somehow hear me an' he'll know how sorry I am for everything – and because you're my brother and I don't wanna lie to you." He hesitated briefly, drawing in a staggering breath as he looked to Drake with tear-filled eyes. "I-I made that mistake with Dean far too often, and I don't wanna do it again."

Seeing how brokenhearted Sam was, Dean growled, "Drake, get off your ass, an' do what I can't do!"

Without needing any further prompting, Drake pushed to his feet, strode the short distance to where Sam sat on the floor, dropped down beside him and wrapped an arm around him. "He knows, Sammy, an' believe me he's sorry, too . . . he loved you more than anything, Sam, an' nothing's ever going to change that."

"Lemme be your brother, Drake . . . please, give me a chance to do it right this time around."

"Sam, I don't think – I can't be your brother." If it were possible, Sam looked even more shattered than he already was, and Drake couldn't bring himself to chance a glance at Dean. He knew what he'd see in the older man's green eyes because what he'd see within their broken depths he already felt within his own heart and soul. Without a doubt in his mind, Drake knew he was Dean, he could feel it to the very depths of his being, but where did that leave him? He had a life, a family and friends. Jake was his brother, and just as Dean loved Sam, he loved his own brother, and he feared to accept what he felt in his heart would dishonor Jake's memory. "Just look at me, Sammy." He waved a hand around himself. "You already know I'm a two-bit junkie who would do pretty much anything for my next high . . . I've screwed up everything good in my life so far, so why the hell would you want me for a brother?"

"Because I've messed up everything, too, and I need you. So even if you say no, you'll still be my little brother."

"Sam, we could find a way to bring Dean back," Drake uttered, recalling how Dean had made a deal to save Sam. If he could figure out how he'd done it, maybe he could do the same thing for Dean and Sam could have his real brother back. "There has to be a way . . . I-I could make some sort of deal – you just need to show me how, an' then you could have him back."

"No!" both Sam and Dean blurted out at the same time.

"Don't you even think about it, Drake," Sam growled, gripped hold of Drake's shirt and yanked him forward, forcing him to look him dead in the eye. "You're Dean – you're my brother, an' I'll be damned if I let you make another deal for me."

"Sammy, I need to make this right," Drake pleaded, tears brimming in his eyes as he glanced briefly at Dean and saw fear shining vividly in his eyes. Then suddenly abrupt images flashed though Drake's mind – terrifyingly real visions of being repeatedly tortured, being torn apart until he died only to have the pain begin all over again.

Although he didn't need Dean to tell him what he was seeing, the older man still uttered, "That's Hell, Drake . . . that's what we endured – I can't do it again, and neither can you. I gave you my soul . . . so you can't – please don't do this to me."

"You don't know what it's like, Sam," as a lone tear trailed down his cheek, Drake drew in a staggering breath, "this twisted feeling in my gut, knowing I took your brother from you – it's all I think about, an' I don't know how to deal with it . . . All I've ever wanted to do was save lives, an' I took your brother's from you – I can't live knowing that. It's tearing me apart inside."

"I know it is, Drake," Sam pulled him into an embrace, "but you have to believe me when I say you're my brother, and it would kill me if you ever did something stupid to try and change that."

"Then what am I supposed to do? How do I make this right?"

"Be my lil' brother – that's all I want. That's all I'm asking for . . . ."

With a muffled sob, Drake conceded with a nod. "Alright, Sammy."


	30. Chapter 30

Thanks for reading and for all the really great comments, they means so much to me and really make my day - Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Thirty_

Drake didn't want to disappoint Sam, but in his heart he knew no matter how hard he tried, Sam would always compare his serious lack of skills to Dean's obvious expertise at hunting. And the more he failed at his attempts to be a good hunter, the stronger his desire to lose himself within a drug induced haze became. Before too long he'd found himself working harder at trying to hide his growing need for a fix than trying to concentrate on everything Sam was teaching him, but he seriously doubted he was fooling his brother.

At night when he tried to sleep, he tossed and turned, lost to nightmares belonging to his other half – fleeting memories that belonged to him but weren't his own. Dean's memories – quick flashes of the true horrors of his life mingled in with tiny specks of good. Sam's smiles – those were some of his best memories. A life made whole by protecting and sheltering another person. They'd suffocated each other to the point where nothing was left and in a sense Sam and Dean had become one person just as Drake and Dean were the same person. They needed and relied upon each other to such an extent that neither could live without the other, and although it was a beautiful relationship in many ways, to Drake it still seemed a very sad way to exist for both of them.

Drake pushed back those dreams to the furthest niches of his mind every morning before he left his bedroom to find Sam and John. Still sometimes they broke through and he would say or do something that would make Sam smile with the knowledge he'd remembered a little of their life together. Yet for as happy as it made Sam to see him becoming more and more Deanlike, for Drake it was like living a real life hellish nightmare. To him it was like having a demon take control of his body, force him to think and act differently and there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. And for as much as he did believe he was Dean, he wished with every fiber in his being that Sam would leave and his life would return to normal. But even if he did go, Drake would follow – it was ingrained within his soul in the same way as being a firefighter was.

From the inside out he was being torn apart to make room for Dean – it was what Sam and John wanted, and even Bobby seemed to be rooting for the idea of Dean's return, although he still swore he had no recollection of the middle Winchester. On the other hand, Bear and Gary seemed a lot less inclined to lose Drake to someone they didn't know or trust, but were tentatively willing to accept the fact that Drake's soul had belonged to Dean. Drake desperately wanted to make them all happy or relatively so, but was losing himself and his mind in the process.

To make matters worse, no one gave him a moment to himself. It was almost as if he had a GPS tracking device attached to his butt, and the second he was out of their sights a buzzer would go off and someone would come looking for him – and today the honor of finding him walking through the woods behind Gary's house fell to Bobby.

"I wasn't going off somewhere to get high," Drake grumbled, eying the older hunter briefly before he returned his sights to the wide path snaking through the woods.

"Never said you were." Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, Bobby picked up his pace to keep up with Drake. "I'm not gonna say something stupid like I thought you might like some company because we both know I'd be lying."

"So which one told you to follow me this time?" Casting a furtive glance in his direction, Drake lifted a brow. "No, don't tell me, it was John right?"

Bobby confirmed with a curt nod. "He's worried about you – they both are."

"Well, the last time I checked, Gary wasn't manufacturing cocaine in his backwoods, so I think it's pretty safe to say I'm not doing anything but taking a walk to clear my head."

"Son, you have to understand that as bullheaded as John is most of the time, family means everything to him."

Pausing in his steps, Drake shifted to look at the older man. "But I already have a family, Bobby. I have a mom and dad who love me – who came to all my football games and track meets, who took care of me when I was sick and taught me everything I know about fire rescue . . . so you tell me how I'm supposed to forget who I am and become someone I'm clearly incapable of being?"

Eyes narrowed on Drake, Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "I know I ain't in your shoes, boy, and am sure glad of it, but if I were I'd have it out with both Sam and John. I see 'em both pushing at you constantly, wanting you to be what they need, and at some point it's going to tear you apart unless you get off your butt an' do something about it."

"But how can I do that when I know I took Dean from them?" With a weary sigh, Drake shook his head. "I can't. They need me to be him more than I need to be me."

"You don't really believe that do you?" A deep frown creased Bobby's forehead, and as Drake gave a quick nod and made to walk away without answering, he gripped hold of his arm. "Listen to me, son," he went on to say, gripping a tighter hold of Drake's arm as he tried to yank it free, "I love the Winchesters like they were my own family, but I'll be damned if I let them take away everything you are so you can be something you once were."

"M'okay with it, Bobby," Drake muttered, unsure if he really believed what he was telling the older hunter or if he was just saying it for his benefit. "I've seen what the demons can do to the people I care about so if I want to protect them I need to be Dean."

"In all the times you rushed into burning buildings and homes to save people, were you Dean then?"

"That's different and you know it," Drake argued, pulling away from the older man's grasp, and once again set out at a brisk pace through the forest. "I've been training almost my whole entire life to be a firefighter, but I don't know the first damn thing about killing demons."

"Maybe so," Bobby conceded, lengthening his strides to keep up with Drake, "but I've been watching you train with John an' Sam, an' you never quit – they repeatedly knock you down but instead of staying on the ground like any smart person would do, you drag yourself up and go back for more . . . that takes guts, boy."

"That doesn't make me a hunter, Bobby."

"You don't think so?" His brows pulled together as he narrowed his eyes on Drake. "I've been a hunter a long time, son, an' along the way I've learned that most of our wins come from a little knowledge, sheer dumb luck, and the courage to take whatever blows come our way."

"What if I'm not strong enough to take the blows that come my way?" Drake asked, thinking of Jamie, Rico, Cindy, Jasper, and Putt-Putt. How many more of his friends would have to die before he lost faith in everything he believed in? "I'm not like Dean. He buried the pain of watching so many people die and it killed him, Bobby – as sure as if he took a knife to the heart, it killed him. I don't wanna have to pretend like everything's okay when I know damn well it's not."

Scratching at his beard, Bobby studied him closely for several moments before he drew in a breath then let out a lengthy sigh. "No one's asking you to, Drake."

"Really?" Drake lifted an incredulous brow. "When John and Sam are kicking my ass in hand to hand combat, I'm praying every damn second that one of them will knock me unconscious so I don't have to see Jamie's face in my mind and remember the pain in her eyes when I killed her." Wiping at the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes, he drew in a shaky breath. "I'm not okay, Bobby . . . I'm a far cry from being even remotely okay – all I wanna do is get high so I can forget everything I've seen and done, but I can't even do that because Sam is counting on me and I can't let him down."

"Have you tried talking to Sam?" Bobby asked, his gaze shifting momentarily to look beyond where Drake was standing, and then refocused his attention on him. "Even if John's too damn pigheaded to listen, Sam would understand."

"Yeah, I tried," Drake nodded, "but all he's interested in knowing is if I've remembered anything more about when I was Dean. He doesn't want me as a brother, he wants his own brother back, and my face is just a constant reminder of what he's lost."

"That's not true, Drake," came a voice from behind Drake, and he cringed, scowling at Bobby before he pivoted on his heel to face his brother.

"How long were you listening to our conversation, Sam?" he asked, casting another glare in Bobby's direction as the older man turned around and headed back to the house.

"Long enough," Sam conceded with a frown, "and I'm not going to lie, I do miss my brother every single minute of the day – and it's so damn hard because you look almost exactly the same as him, but that doesn't mean I'm not trying to be the best damn big brother I can possibly be."

"Being brothers shouldn't be a job, Sammy . . . it's not something you're supposed to have to work at it's just something that is." Lowering his head, Drake shrugged. "It's okay though, it's not your fault – it's mine."

"That's not true, Drake," Sam pursed his lips and shook his head, "there were times when Dean and I had to work really hard to be brothers. There were even a few times when we went our separate ways because we couldn't see eye to eye on matters." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he rubbed at it as he pressed his eyes closed. When he reopened his eyes, he trained them on a squirrel high aloft in the tree branches instead of looking at Drake. "I wasn't the best brother I could've been for him, and I hurt him in ways you can't even possibly imagine. At one point I was so cranked up on demon blood I said he wasn't strong enough to do the job that needed to be done, an' then I almost choked the life out of him – he's the person I care about most in all the world, but I walked out and left him there on the floor gasping for breath . . . we may have gotten back together after that, but things weren't the same – and he never looked at me like I was his little brother again after that night."

"You were fucked up on demon blood, Sammy," Drake said with protective understanding, "you didn't know what you were doing – Dean knows that."

"No matter if I was, it doesn't make it any less my fault." With a weary sigh, Sam slumped down onto a sawed off tree stump. "Dean taught me everything I know about hunting, and I screwed him over in the end because I thought I was so much smarter than him." Head lowered, he glanced up through shaggy bangs at Drake. "I killed Lilith and set Lucifer free from Hell because I was so damn sure I was right and he didn't have a clue . . . his whole life he'd fought so damn hard against everything we'd ever came up against, but the one monster he should've killed was the only one he let live."

"I'm not even going to try to argue with you, Sam, you were wrong for what you did – you lied and snuck around behind my back . . . drinking demon blood and God only knows what else, but you're my baby brother, and if takes my last breath, I will save you."

Sam's head shot up, and he looked searchingly into Drake's eyes. "Dean?"

"Yeah . . . I mean no, I'm Drake." Rubbing hard at sudden throbbing pain in his temples, Drake cursed under his breath. Legs trembling and feeling as if his knees were about to buckle, he braced a hand against an old gray birch tree for support, and slid to the damp ground, folding his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "I-I can't do this, Sammy . . . I feel like I'm going out of my freakin' mind. You say things to me, and then when I go to respond it's like I can't control what I'm thinking or saying. Being two people is tearing me apart inside, and I don't know how to stop it from happening."

"Then you need to stop trying to be Dean for my benefit and focus on just being Drake."

"I can't do that."

"Yeah, you can." Sam slid off the tree stump and took a seat beside Drake. "Look, I know I've been pushing you, hoping you'll to regain Dean's memories, and I'm sorry for that." A wry laugh slipped past his lips. "Bear an' Gary cornered me the other night when I was heading to bed, and said although they were in mutual agreement that they liked me well enough, if I didn't back off on you somewhat they'd both fill me full of buckshot . . . Bobby was sitting on the couch nearby and offered them his best shotguns to get the job done right if I didn't listen. So I guess what I am trying to say is even if you never remember anything else about the time you were Dean you're still my brother."

Drake opened his mouth to comment, but snapped it shut when he heard both Gary and Bear singing _Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall_ loudly and off key as they stomped through the woods. A smile worked its way across his features certain his friends were being purposefully loud in an attempt to forestall any argument Drake and Sam might be having.

"They're complete idiots," Sam cracked a smile, "you know that right?"

Before Drake had a chance to respond, both firefighters rounded a curve in the trail and called out to him and Sam.

"We were practicing being stealthy." Gary smirked, hitching his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. "Betcha didn't even hear us coming . . . we were like super commando ninjas."

"Yeah," Bear interjected, "John was going on and on about how we were uncoordinated buffoons who could never sneak up on our prey, so he sent us out here to practice being quiet. I think the lesson paid off really well – I know for me this has been an eye opening experience . . . I'm gonna buy him a gift – something that says you're completely awesome in a totally obsessive dictator sort of way." Playfully smacking Gary on the arm, he went on to add, "You think maybe they have a mug that says that exact sentiment, Gar, 'cause I think John would really get a kick out of it."

"We could have it special ordered," Gary chuckled, taking a seat on the tree stump and clapping his hands, rubbed them together enthusiastically. "Anywho, big news, I found us our first hunt an' John told me to tell you we're going to go after it tonight."

Sam looked from Drake to the other two men and back to his brother again. "No, we're not," he stated simply, pushing to his feet. "You three have only been training for a few weeks, and you're definitely not ready to hunt anything."

"What are we hunting, Gar?" Drake asked, disregarding Sam's discouraging remarks.

"Remember the story about the White Lady who lived in that crumbling castle in Durand Eastman Park?"

"Oh, you mean the one who supposedly chased Jimmy, Kevin and Keith that one night when their car broke down on Zoo Road?" Excitement fluttering in his stomach, Drake glanced between his two friends. "Didn't the story say she had two German Shepherds with her who supposedly jumped off the cliff and drowned with her?"

"Totally freakin' cool, right?" Bear said as he gripped hold of Drake's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Our first hunt and we get to go after a White Lady and ghost dogs."

"Maybe you guys didn't hear me," Sam interjected, raising his voice to be heard above their overly enthusiastic banter, "but none of you are going on any hunt tonight." Even as he spoke, he was reminded of the night Dean showed up at Stanford and said their father was missing and the hunt for the Lady in White that followed. Biting at his lower lip, he wondered briefly if Lucifer had anything to do with Gary happening upon this particular hunt. "First of all we can't just go after her without doing some research, and secondly none of you are ready to hunt."

"Our little research dude already dug up everything we need to know about her," Gary replied with a grin. "Her name was Amanda Grey and as the story goes she believed her daughter was raped and murdered, but the local police wouldn't help Amanda search for her even after she told them her daughter was worried about a man who lived down the road from them." Taking a lengthy breath, he went on to say, "So every night she and her two dogs would walk along the road and beach in search of her daughter, but she never found her. Then one night, she just threw herself over the cliffs and drowned. And weirder than weird, her dogs followed her to their deaths."

"Where's she buried?" Sam asked skeptically, certain Gary wouldn't have been that thorough in his research.

"She's buried in Mount Hope Cemetery near Strong Memorial Hospital."

"And her dogs?"

"Creepy Lady stipulated in her will they were to be buried with her," Bear responded, feigning a shudder. "I mean I like dogs as much as the next guy, but I really don't wanna be buried with one."

"So how should we go about hunting her, Drake?" Sam asked, glancing at his little brother.

"Two of us distract her at the park while the other two dig up her grave along with the dogs and salt 'n burn their remains."

"You forgot the most important part of the plan, Drake," Gary said with a disapproving sigh.

"No, I didn't," Drake argued, rechecking his plan for errors in what Sam had taught him, but couldn't find any.

"Oh, you definitely did," Bear nodded in agreement, rubbing at his stomach. "You left out going to Nick Tahou's for garbage plates after we've off'ed the bitch."

"You disappoint me, young padawan," Gary feigned a disconcerted frown as he stood and rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Apparently the force is not strong in this one," with a smirking grin, he jerked a thumb toward Drake, "Hmmm, yes, much training this one needs to be a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan."

"Just because I didn't say garbage plates, doesn't mean I wasn't thinking garbage plates," Drake defended himself, chuckling when he heard Sam groan in frustration. "Because anyone who knows me at all, knows I'm all about the garbage plates."

"What's a garbage plate?" Sam asked, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to stave off the headache he knew would come with agreeing to take the three of them on a hunt.

"They load up a plate with your choice of hash browns, mac salad, beans or fries and then top it off with whatever meat you want then smother it in onions, mustard and hot sauce," Gary replied, licking his lips.

"It's kind of like a heart attack on a plate," Drake added, grinning at his brother, "You're going to hate it, but you are going to try it."

"I'll make a deal with you, Drake," Sam said, cursing under his breath, "You stick by me tonight and do everything I tell you to do, and I'll try a garbage plate."

"So we're really going to hunt the White Lady?" he said with a widening smile.

"Yeah, we're going to hunt her," Sam conceded, knowing no matter what he said to the contrary, his father would push them into hunting whether they were ready for it or not.


	31. Chapter 31

thanks to everyone for taking the time to read my story, and for all of the really great comments. They mean everything to me. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Thirty-one_

When they returned to the house, Gary had filled them in on the rest of the information on the White Lady, detailing how several men had gone missing in the area over the years, and how three more had disappeared in last few weeks. He'd also gained an account from one man who'd been in the park one night, and from what the man had said he'd been having an argument with his girlfriend when he was viciously attacked by a very pale woman with long dark hair. Her two dogs then attacked him as well and he'd barely escaped before they'd dragged him into the water to drown him. With the prevalence of recent attacks John and Bobby both believed Drake's plan of action was their best option, and even though Sam had argued they should all go to the cemetery to salt and burn her bones, he was overruled.

The moment they'd finished making plans for the hunt, Gary and Bear mentioned they needed to take care of some business, and left before Sam could question them about it. John, on the other hand, wasn't finished with all he had to say on the matter, and made quick work of pulling Sam aside, but not out of earshot of Bobby or Drake.

"I know what you're trying to do, Sam," he began in a low voice, "but you know as well as I do that if we don't go to the park someone else could get hurt while we're digging up her grave."

"I'd rather someone else gets hurt instead of Drake, dad, and so should you," Sam shot back, momentarily unconcerned if his brother heard him. "You're pushing him just like you always pushed Dean, and maybe you don't remember what it did to him, but I do."

"I'm not pushing him into anything," John hastily defended, voice rising as anger flashed in his dark eyes. "If you don't think he's ready to hunt then he can stay here with you while we go after her."

"Screw you, Sam, I'm going," Drake interjected, barging into their conversation, and Sam had no doubt in his mind that his response was exactly what John had hoped he would say. "You wanted me to accept the fact that I'm your brother – I have which means I have every right to go on this damn hunt and nothing you say or do is going to stop me."

"I know," Sam muttered, ticking his gaze between his father and brother, "you always did do exactly what dad wanted you to do . . . the good little solider – you haven't changed that much, Drake." Without giving either of them a chance to argue further, Sam stormed away.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Although Gary and Bear hadn't returned from whatever business they had to attend to, John and Sam still insisted on more hand to hand combat training with Drake. Of course Drake could have argued the odds of the two of them against himself, but Sam would have used it as an excuse to once again berate his hunting and fighting skills. Bobby sat on the sidelines, encouraging Drake, and even though he ended up on the ground more often than not, the older hunter chuckled loudly every time he momentarily got the upper hand against the Winchesters.

"You can breathe later, Drake, get off your butt an' kick his ass!" Bobby shouted after Sam hauled Drake off his feet and practically body slammed him to the ground.

"Get up, Drake!" Sam commanded coldly without the slightest hint of mercy in his tone. From his readied stance, prepared to take Drake down the moment he got his feet, and by the way he kept glancing furtively in John's direction, Drake understood his brother was trying to prove he wasn't ready to hunt with them. "Demons aren't going to wait while you're checking to see if you're bleeding or not, so suck it up and get on your feet."

"You've proved you point, Sam, I'm done," Drake hissed angrily, holding out his hand for Sam to take hold of it and help him to his feet. "You want me to stay here while you go off hunting I'm more than fine with it," he added with a cynical laugh, "hell, I never wanted to be a damn hunter in the first place.

"You're going to be a great hunter, Drake, you just need more practice."

Sam gripped hold of his hand to help him up, but the second Drake was a few feet off the ground, he yanked hard on his brother's arm. As Sam struggled to keep himself upright, Drake drew up his leg, slammed it hard against the side of his brother's knee and swept it sideways, knocking the older hunter flat on his back. Before Sam had a chance to gain his breath, Drake pounced, pinned his brother's arms beneath his knees, and quick as a flash he withdrew his knife and held it firmly to Sam's throat.

"I don't quit, Sam," he breathed in a low deadly voice, "and I'm a helluva lot smarter than you give me credit for – so you suck it up and deal with it. I'm a hunter," he peered up at John, and grinned, "just like my father."

"Get the hell off of me, Dean!" Sam growled, swallowing hard against the blade pressed against his neck.

"I'm pretty sure a demon wouldn't let you up when it had the upper hand, Sammy, so why should I?"

"Because I was wrong," Sam muttered, pressing his eyes shut against the sight of Drake smirking at him.

"I didn't hear that – you were what?"

"I was wrong," Sam gritted out the words, locking eyes on his brother.

"Wrong about what?"

"You're really going to make me say this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," Drake chuckled.

"You suck."

"Not what I wanted to hear." Pressing the blade more firmly to Sam's neck, he watched a thin ribbon of blood slip down his throat, and almost felt bad had it not been for all the times he'd been the one bleeding after one of their training sessions. "Say it, Sammy, and I'll let you go."

"You're not as good as Dean was, but you are ready," he replied with a heavy groan.

"I can live with that." Pulling the knife away from Sam's throat, Drake pushed himself into a standing position and then helped his brother to his feet.

Sam eyed Drake for several long moments as he rubbed at the red mark forming on his neck, he then opened his mouth as if to speak, shook his head, and snapped it shut. Seizing the opportunity the silence afforded, John walked to Drake, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Nice job, son."

"I'm not your son," he blurted out upon hearing the compliment and seeing the proud smile lighting up John's features then cursed under his breath recalling how in the heat of the moment, he'd called the older man his father. It was one thing to recognize Sam as his brother, but quite another to accept John as his father. His own father would have been hurt beyond words if he'd heard him willingly and thoughtlessly refer to another man as his father. Yet for as much as he wanted to, he couldn't fight or deny the overwhelming desire to be John's son that welled up from deep within his heart and soul. "Sam, can I talk to your dad alone?"

Biting pensively at his lower lip, Sam looked between both men for a moment, and then reluctantly gave a nod. "Yeah, come on, Bobby, let's go get some lunch."

Bobby grumbled something under his breath, shot John a look of warning, and then rose to his feet to follow Sam. A smile briefly flitted across Drake's features as he watched the older man glance back over his shoulder at him before walking inside the house.

Once they were both gone, Drake nudged his head at the woods, and began to walk toward them, leaving John to follow. As he walked he tried to decide how to voice his fears to the intimidating older man and after several very long minutes of silence finally settled on a plan. "I haven't mentioned this to Sam, but when I was younger," he paused and cast a furtive glance in John's direction, "probably no older than four or five, I had this imaginary friend . . . his name was Dean."

John's brows knit together as he gave a curt nod of understanding. "My son, Dean."

"Yeah." Drake smiled as he recalled the memory of all the conversations he'd had with his supposed imaginary friend. "He was probably about nine or ten years older than me at the time, an' he always wore this faded brown leather jacket. It was way too big on him, but he loved it more than pretty much anything because he got it from his dad." He bobbed his head and pointed toward the jacket John was wearing. "He loved you, John . . . he loved you so damn much, but you terrified the hell of him."

John paused in his steps and looked Drake in the eye. "Why?"

The question threw Drake for a moment as he hadn't realized how utterly clueless John was about his own sons. Of course he didn't remember Dean, but Drake saw how he treated Sam. There were no such words as compromise or failure in John's vocabulary, everything was done his way without exception, and although he had his reasons for his behavior it didn't excuse how hard and cold he had been toward his own children.

"Dean used to show up at the oddest times, and he'd always be in pain," Drake touched his fingers to his face, "he'd have bruises on his face, and sometimes he'd be limping or holding his ribcage . . . but he'd always have this cocky grin on his face because he'd said he'd done his old man proud fighting monsters – God, at the time I thought he was the coolest person alive." Out of the corner of his eye, Drake noticed a flash of light, and then Dean materialized beside an old maple tree.

"Leave it alone, Drake," Dean ordered, looking beyond Drake to where John stood. "He doesn't remember me, so there's no point in telling him any of this."

Drake eyed Dean for a moment, noticed the same self-deprecating look in his eyes that when younger he'd always mistook for pride, and mouthed the word 'no' before returning his attention to John. "But then there was this one time when he appeared an' he was staggering around, nearly falling down – I thought he was hurt, because he was always hurt, but now I know he was drunk as all hell."

"How old was he then?" John asked, eyes narrowing to a squint as if trying to recall the time Drake had spoken of, and then with a heavy sigh shook his head.

"I was about seven at the time so probably around seventeen or eighteen."

"I was eighteen," Dean grudgingly confirmed, glaring at Drake.

"He was eighteen." Drake studied the older version of himself for a moment longer, saw Dean's shoulders slump in a defeated manner, and pushed forward. "He'd told me how his brother had gotten hurt on a hunt for a werewolf . . . he blamed himself, and kept bringing up this other creature – something about when his brother was younger . . . and the look in your eyes."

"A Shtriga," Dean muttered, pressing his eyes closed, and the memory of the incident slipped from his mind to Drake's.

"I'd left Sam alone . . . you told me to stay with him, but you'd been gone so long, and I was bored out of my mind – so I left him to go play video games."

"What happened while you were gone?" John prodded when Drake fell silent.

"There was this Shtriga . . . an' I swear I was going to shoot it, dad, but I froze – I couldn't move, an' it was going after Sammy."

"God, the look in his eyes . . . the force of them went right to my gut and twisted inside of me," Dean breathed, tears shimmering in his eyes.

"You busted through the door and saved Sammy . . . and the look you gave me – it ruined me, dad, it absolutely ruined me."

"I honestly don't remember it happening, Drake," lowering his head, John swallowed hard, "but you have to know I never meant to hurt you."

"Yeah, you did," Drake scowled, and even as Dean shot him a warning glance went on to say, "from that moment onward, I lived and breathed to somehow try to regain your trust and respect, and in doing so lost out on any chance I could've had to have a life of my own."

"It wasn't his fault, Drake, I was supposed to protect Sam . . . I left him alone and he almost died because of it."

"And do you know what the really sick part about it all is, John?" Drake pursed his lips, shook his head in disgust, and without waiting for John to respond, answered his own question. "I'm still trying to make excuses and take the blame for how you made me feel."

"If I ever made you feel like I didn't think you were good enough, Dean, I'm sorrier than you'll ever know." Rubbing at his eyes, John drew in a shaky breath. "I want a chance to make it up to you."

"I can't let you, John." Drake looked away from John and kept his sights lowered so he wouldn't have to see the hope kindled in Dean's eyes. "When I look at you sometimes, the hurt runs so deep I can hardly breathe. I can't go back to that way of living . . . it tore me apart the first time, and I'm not willing to let it happen again."

"So you'll let Sam be your brother, but I'm just supposed to let you go?" When Drake nodded, both Dean and John shook their heads. "I'm your damn father, Drake, so there's no way in hell I'm going to do that!"

"You really don't have a choice in the matter – you mean absolutely less than nothing to me, and if given the choice, I'd never choose you for a father . . . and I just thank God I don't have to."

"Take it back, Drake!" Dean snarled, glancing first at his father's deep, sad frown, and then cast an imploring look in Drake's direction. "We both know you don't mean it, but he'll believe you do."

"Even if you wouldn't choose me for a father, you'd be my first choice for a son," John responded stoically, and without waiting for Drake to respond, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the house, calling back over his shoulder, "I'll leave tomorrow morning if that's what you want."

"Go after him, Drake," Dean ordered, clenching his fists as they both watched John's shoulders slump as he lowered his head.

"I can't do that, Dean." Drake shook his head. "No matter how much I love him, I can't live like I don't matter anymore."

"He's never going to change."

"If he doesn't then he never deserved to have us as a son in the first place . . . and since you _gave_ me your soul, you'll have to trust me to do what's best for the both of us."


	32. Chapter 32

thanks to everyone for taking the time to read my story, and for all of the really great comments. They mean everything to me. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Thirty-two_

Sam could hear the waves rolling in across the shore of the beach below the steep embankment, and mentally kicked himself for agreeing to hunt the White Lady with his little brother. From where he stood near the trunk of the Impala, he could scarcely see Lake Ontario through the thick foliage surrounding the beach nor could he find a clear trail to the beach below. Drake had explained to him how he'd only been to the park a few times, but recalled how the trails leading to the beach were rutted, rocky and slippery, all of which would make the climb down difficult and also would be extremely treacherous to try to run back up the embankment if the need arose.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he spied the crumbling foundation of the old castle which had at one point belonged to Amanda Grey, and let out a low whistle at the wide stone stairs leading up to where the house once stood. John had chosen to search around the castle foundation and outlying grounds for the White Lady while Sam and Drake headed down to the beach to look for her. Bobby, Gary, and Bear took the task of digging up Amanda and her dogs' bodies, and had spent the better part of the day looking through the cemetery for their graves.

From Sam's standpoint, the park made for the worst possible hunting conditions. Other than the beach itself, the park wasn't even remotely secluded, and having seen several police cars patrolling the area, he briefly wondered if he should park the Impala further away from the beach. The police patrolling the area also posed another problem – if they were to fire their weapons at the White Lady, at some point someone would hear the sound of gunfire, and would come to investigate.

Drake sensed this as well, and looking from the gun in his hand to Sam, he shook his head. "We aren't going to be able to use these, Sam." He bobbed his head toward the curve in the road. "There's a bunch of houses up the road a ways, and if anyone hears us shooting up the beach, the police will be here in no time flat."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"Maybe we should use crossbows instead," Drake suggested, watching as Sam rifled through the trunk of the Impala.

"They wouldn't stop her."

"Yeah, they would if the bolt tips were made of pure iron."

"True," Sam nodded, "but we don't have any bolts tipped with iron."

"Well, maybe you don't, but I do." Reaching inside the trunk, Drake yanked out his duffel bag, unzipped it and yanked out several iron-tipped bolts. "Gary and Bear thought we might need them because of the location of the park, so they had a friend of ours make them for us . . . that's where they headed off to earlier today."

Grudgingly taking one of the bolts from Drake, Sam looked it over. "It's a good idea," he finally conceded, studying the craftsmanship of the bolts, "you're friends are really smart about a lot of things when it comes to hunting."

"My friends, but not me, right?"

"I didn't mean it like that, Drake."

"Sure you did," Drake uttered, brows pulling together in anger. "You're already thinking of them as hunters but when it comes to me, hell, you'd find any reason you could to question if I'm ready to hunt or not."

"That's because you're my brother, Drake, and I care a helluva lot more about what happens to you than I do about them."

"You sure have a great way of showing it," Drake grumbled, grabbing a crossbow and knife out of the trunk of the car. "Most of the time you're bitching at me for one reason or another and when you're not doing that, you're busy comparing me to Dean." Tucking the knife into the sheath at the side of his waist, he turned to walk away from Sam, but turned back to add, "I think I liked you a whole helluva lot better when you weren't pretending you cared about me."

"I'm not pretending." Sam grabbed hold of his arm, and tightened his grip as his brother tried to break free from his grasp. "I know you think I'm being a complete jerk, but I can't help it, Drake." With a deep frustrated sigh, he let go of his brother's arm. "The truth is I'm absolutely terrified to be your big brother." Grabbing a Bowie knife out of the trunk, he lifted it up so Drake could see it. "This is exactly like the knife Dean used to put under his pillow at night before he went to sleep . . . I keep it under my pillow now." After studying the sharpness of the blade for a moment, he stuck it in the sheath at his waist. "And about three to four times a night I wake up in a cold sweat because I'm afraid I forgot to put salt trails in front of the doors and windows."

"I'm not asking you to protect me, Sam."

"I never asked Dean to protect me either." With another heavy sigh, Sam raked his hands through his hair. He hadn't meant to bring Dean up again and didn't want Drake to believe he was only protecting him in hopes that he might somehow figure out a way to bring Dean back. "If something happened to you, it would literally kill me."

Drake gave a curt nod before lowering his head. "Because I'm Dean."

"No," Sam shook his head, "because you're a firefighter who'd risk his life to enter a burning building to save his best friend – because you love riding bulls, and cared enough to teach me how to ride them as well . . . and because even when you didn't know me at the time you still left your friends to have lunch with me . . . you're my brother because you're you, Drake, not because you're Dean."

"If you really believe that, Sammy, then you're going to have to trust me enough to know I'm not going to let you down."

"I was never worried about you letting me down, but I am so afraid I'm going to mess up somehow and you're going to end up getting hurt because of it."

"Hunting's just like firefighting – it's a risk worth taking, you go into it knowing you could get hurt or maybe even die, but I'm not afraid, Sam." Drake shrugged unconcernedly. "I know you've got my back, an' I've got yours, so stop worrying so much about it and let's go kill the bitch."

"Alright," Sam conceded with a chuckle. "But about the garbage plates," he added as they strode toward the steep embankment, "I really don't want one of those."

"Too bad, Sammy," Drake hung an arm around Sam's shoulder, "Nick's doesn't serve salads so you're stuck having a garbage plate with the rest of us."

Nearly slipping and falling twice, Sam somehow managed to make it down the narrow rutted trail leading to the beach with only a few scratches from the tree branches sticking out along the path. Large boulders jutted out of the sand along the tree line, and several more of them peeked out of the water. Moonlight shimmered across the lake and gave light to the surrounding area, and from it, Sam realized how large the beach really was.

Stomach flip-flopping at the thought of the man who'd almost drown, and worrying the same thing might happen to Drake, he uttered, "For some reason I really thought this would be a smaller beach."

Drake rolled his eyes. "Dude, they call it a Great Lake for a reason."

"Yeah, but you weren't calling it Lake Ontario when you said it was a beach."

"Well, next time we go hunting near water I'll be sure to mention if it's a really big lake or something more along the lines of the pond in Gary's yard."

Swallowing hard, he forced down his gut instinct to go back to the Impala, drive Drake home and come back on his own to hunt the White Lady. "Let's head that way," he gestured off to the right, "and if we don't come across her, we'll double back and go the other way."

"Why don't you go one way and I'll go the other? That way we can cover twice as much ground in a helluva lot less time."

With his lips pursed, Sam shook his head. "No, we're going to stick together."

"Sammy, I've got a crossbow, gun and knife – if I spot her, I'm gonna shoot her or stab her or some sort of combination of both . . . hell, maybe I'll shoot her with my crossbow, stab her a few times for sport, and then shoot her with my gun just for shits and giggles." With an aggravated groan, Drake scrubbed a hand across his face. "Look, I know I've never hunted a vengeful spirit before, but you've seen me shoot a gun and a crossbow – I'm really good at it, Sam, so you've gotta trust me."

"Drake, if something bad happened to you, dad would kill me for letting you go on your own."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Drake argued, getting the same look in his eyes that Dean always got when he was determined to do something, and Sam knew no matter what he said his brother would do exactly as he had planned. "Besides, Gary, Bear, and Bobby probably have her grave halfway dug up by now, so we might not even come across her at all."

"Huh, apparently you've never heard of Winchester luck before."

"Is that like bad luck?"

"No, Winchester luck makes bad luck seem like winning a million dollar lottery."

"Well, then it's a good thing my last name's Marlowe, but it certainly sucks to be you." Drake grinned, and without waiting for Sam to respond, he turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction of what Sam had suggested.

Biting at his lower lip in indecision, Sam watched his brother trudge through the sand. If he followed Drake, they'd end up fighting again, but if he let him go on his own and he got hurt . . . _He's not going to get hurt. I have to trust him._

Sam studied his little brother's retreating form for several more seconds, wanting to follow him to keep him safe, but then with a heavy sigh, turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. Except for the constant rush of waves rolling into the shore, the beach was eerily quiet, setting Sam's nerves on edge. Every few minutes he paused and glanced back over his shoulder, searching the shoreline for Drake. Stomach churning, he cursed under his breath when he could no longer see him in the darkness. Craning his neck, he listened, straining to hear any sound at all that might be coming from Drake's direction, but heard nothing that would lead him to believe his brother was in trouble or needed his help.

After walking a good fifteen minutes with no sign of the White Lady at all, he turned to head back, but stopped short at the sound of his cell phone ringing. Quickly fishing it out of his pocket, he checked the name on the screen, saw it was Bobby calling, and hastily answered it.

"Hey, Bobby, you guys almost done digging up that grave?" he asked, narrowing his eyes to a squint as he pivoted on his heel, still searching for the vengeful spirit.

"That's why I'm calling you, Sam," Bobby replied almost immediately, and in the background Sam could hear both Bear and Gary talking but couldn't make out what they were saying to each other. "We dug her up, but someone else beat us to her."

"What do you mean, beat you to her?"

"I mean someone else already salted and burned her bones."

"Recently?"

"I can't be sure, but since the grass had already grown back, I'd have to say it was at least a month or so ago."

"Call my dad an' tell him to get down to the beach now!" Heart lodging in his throat, Sam snapped his phone shut and set off at a dead run toward where he'd last seen his brother.

Everything in his gut had told him not to allow Drake to go on this hunt, but he'd allowed everyone sway his decision on the matter. They'd walked right into a trap and he had no doubt in his mind Lucifer was the one behind it. "Drake!" he shouted, kicking up clumps of wet sand as his feet pounded hard against the beach. "Answer me, Drake," he hollered again and again to no avail.

Within a matter of minutes, he heard his father's voice, and then saw him scrambling down the embankment. "Where's Drake, Sam?" he said harshly, condemning Sam with every word. "You were supposed to watch him, so where the hell is he?"

"We split up so we could cover the beach faster." His father threw him a look of such utter disappointment and anger verging on rage it stopped him cold in his tracks. "It was his idea, not mine . . . none of this was my idea. I said he wasn't ready, but you pushed and pushed just like you always do."

"You didn't see anything?" he asked, looking up and down the beach for Drake.

"No, I didn't see or hear anything." Without waiting for John to say anything more, Sam withdrew his flashlight from his pocket, and set to searching around on the ground for any signs of a struggle.

"Sam, we have to check the water," John uttered with a slight tremor in his voice, and simultaneously they both turned their heads toward the lake.

"He couldn't have drowned, Dad." Swallowing hard, Sam narrowed his eyes on the lake, searching the waves for his brother's body.

"I'll do it." John made to head for the lake, but Sam grabbed hold of his arm, and pulled him back.

"No, he's my brother – you search the beach and I'll search the water."

As John combed the beach for any clues as to what happened to Drake, Sam treaded and dove through the frigid water looking for him, and before too long Bobby, Gary, and Bear showed up at the beach and joined in on the search. The two new hunters followed the trails to one of the parking lots, worked their way to the Impala, and within a matter of ten minutes, rushed backed down the slippery slope.

"He's not in the water, Sam," Gary shouted, waving a piece of paper he held in his hand. "I found this under your windshield wiper."

John came up behind Gary and snatched the note out of his hand, cursing loudly as he read what was written on the wrinkled paper. "If that sonuvabitch hurts my son, I swear to God I'll rip him apart!"

Sam hurriedly splashed through the water to the shore, and grabbed the note out of his father's hands and read what Lucifer had written.

_Sam,_

_How long do you think it will take for me to break him, Sam? All I have to do is remind him how he killed the love of his life, and he'll be begging me for a fix before sunrise. He's not Dean, Sam. No matter how hard he might try, he'll never be the brother you lost – say yes to me, and I'll put an end to Drake's suffering and give you back your real brother. It's what Dean would want . . . it's what you really want, so stop trying to fool yourself into believing Drake could ever take his place. I'll be waiting for your answer. _

_Lucifer_

The moment Sam read the last line, the paper immediately burst into flames. Hurriedly tossing it to the ground, he stomped on it, grounding out the flames until there was nothing left but ashes and the overpowering scent of sulfur.

"What are we going to do, Sam?" both Gary and Bear asked almost in unison.

"We have to go after them," Bear added with fierce determination gleaming in his golden-brown eyes.

"I'm going to get my brother back – and I'm going alone," Sam responded, and without another word he turned his back on them, and walked toward the trail leading to the parking lot.

"Which brother, Sam?" Bear shouted to him, briefly stopping him in his tracks. "Maybe Drake means nothing to you, but there are a helluva lot of people who love him and depend on him being around for a long time to come!"

"Don't you dare say yes to him!" Gary hollered, and a split second later Bobby said the same thing, but presumably for a different reason. Whereas both Gary and Bear were thinking solely of their friend, the older hunter knew by saying yes to Lucifer Sam would be lost and the world at an end. "You're not God, Sam," Gary went on to say, voice rising in anger, "you don't get the right to decide who lives and who dies!"

With head hung low and without turning around to face them, Sam uttered, "If I could choose them both I would, but that's not an option. So I have to do what I think is best for everyone concerned."

"An' what's best for everyone concerned is your brother Dean?" Bear growled in anger, and stalking the distance to where Sam stood, gripped hold of his arm and roughly swung him around. "If you really think that, at least have the balls to look us in the eyes when you tell us you're planning on killing our brother to save yours."

Squaring his shoulders, Sam looked Bear dead in the eye. "I'll do whatever I have to do to save my brother's life."

"You selfish sonuvabitch," Bear snarled, and cocking back an arm made to slam his fist into Sam's face, but stopped short, and pushed him away. "Go save your brother, Sam, but don't ever let me see your face around here again or I'll forget how much Drake cared about you, and beat the shit out you!"

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but seeing tears glistening in the bigger man's eyes, snapped it shut, and walked away.


	33. Chapter 33

_Thanks again to everyone who is continuing to read my story! I really appreciate and love all the really great comments people have given, they mean so much to me. Hugs. Ember_

_Chapter Thirty-three_

With a heavy groan, Drake pried his eyelids open, and almost wished he hadn't when he noticed he was at the cabin where he'd murdered Jamie. With his head pounding from the large lump on the back of his head and tears clouding his vision he tried to recall what had happened and how he'd gotten to the cabin when the last thing he remember was being on the beach with Sam. Slowly the memory of running into Lowey at the beach trickled into his mind, and he briefly wondered if he'd killed him when he shot him with his crossbow.

It had bothered him how the drug dealer always seemed to show up wherever he was – at the hospital, Darien Lake, at his parent's barn along with numerous other places, but he'd always managed to talk himself out of his suspicions and eagerly accepted the high the older man had to offer. But now that his mind wasn't clouded with drugs and he knew of such things as demon possession, he'd seen Lowey for what he truly was and shot at him without the slightest hesitation. Sam would have been proud, Drake's aim had been true and Lowey crumpled like house of cards. He only wished now that he'd been paying closer attention, if he had he might have heard the person who had come up from behind him and clobbered him in the head.

Mindful not to glance down at the spot where Jamie had died, Drake peered around the darkened room as he tried to devise a plan to escape. His head dropped back onto his shoulders, and he glanced up at the chains cuffed around his wrists that were bolted to the ceiling, and cursed under his breath. _Sammy's going to kill me when he finds me. _Yanking hard on the chains, he fought to break free, but the restraints held firm. _Damn it, he's never going to let me hunt alone again. _"Come on you sonuavbitch!" he hissed, wrapping his hands around the metal chains, and tugging all the harder, to no avail. _My first damn hunt and I fuck it up royally. _

He lowered his head, spied a chair not too far away, and edged his way toward it. Hooking his foot around the leg of the chair, he dragged it to him. The rickety chair teetered precariously as he climb onto it, stood on his tip-toes and reached for the top of the chains. The rigging attached to the ceiling posed a problem as whoever had placed it there had used both nuts and bolts along with sturdy screws to hold it in place, but Drake wasn't about to wait for his captors to return or for Sam to rescue him. Winding his hand around one of the chains, he gripped tight, drew in a deep breath and hauled himself off the chair, lifting and bending his right leg so he could reach the knife concealed in his boot. Muscles straining, he fumbled at his pant leg, tugging at the hem until his fingertips slipped beneath the leather of his boot, and grasped upon the handle of the blade.

With knife in hand, he carefully lowered himself back onto the chair, and set to work loosening the screws with the tip of the blade. As he struggled to remove the screws, he heard raised voices and other noises coming from outside the cabin, and quietly sang to himself to calm his nerves. When the last of the screws fell to the floor, he wedged the sharpened edge of the knife between the wood and the metal of the rigging and jimmied it back and forth in hopes to pry it away from the ceiling.

The wood beneath the metal cracked loudly and splintered, and once again gripping hold of the chains he yanked hard on them until rigging broke free from the ceiling. Partially freed from his restraint, Drake hopped down from the chair, and crept to the window to peer outside. Although he could still hear muffled voices, he didn't spy anyone directly in front of the cabin, and briefly wondered if he made a run for it, could he reach the covering of the trees before anyone spotted him. But even if they did, he really didn't have any other option but to run and hope all his years of running track would be to his benefit.

Silently he edged toward the door, and saying a quick prayer for protection, he gripped hold of the door handle and pulled it open, stopping short of running at the sight of a tall man with disheveled sandy-brown hair and icy blue eyes. The man tilted his head to the side, looked beyond Drake to the chair he'd used to free himself, and then refocused his attention on Drake.

"I had faith in you, Drake, and you didn't disappoint." He smiled congenially. "Lowey, on the other hand, thought you'd wait like a damsel in distress until Sam showed up to rescue you."

"What can I say, I'm freakin' Houdini." Drake smirked, standing his ground.

"Well, unless you've learned his secret for disappearing into thin air, I'd have to say you're nothing more than a rank amateur." With a dismissive wave of his hand, he stepped forward into the cabin, and from behind him, Drake noticed three black-eyed demons moving into block his path. "Although I'm certain Dean is somewhere buzzing around your ear, filling you in on all the details, I should still introduce myself." Blue eyes locking on Drake, he smiled. "My name is Lucifer – I'm sure you've heard of me."

Steeling himself against the fear welling up inside of him, Drake swallowed hard and grinned. "Huh, I think I would've been a helluva lot more impressed if you'd said you were God, but then that would be giving you more importance than you deserve."

"I'm certain my Father would be very pleased to hear you say that." Allowing the three other demons to enter the cabin, Lucifer closed the door behind them. As the demons circled around Drake, the fallen angel casually walked to a worn old kitchen table, pulled up a chair and took a seat. "Unfortunately, I've somehow managed to get the reputation of being the bad guy, but I assure you, Drake, I am not your enemy."

Drake lifted a brow in disbelief. "So you're trying to tell me the Bible got it all wrong then?"

"The written word is so open to misinterpretation that even the saintliest of us all can be cast as the villain of the story." He gestured toward Drake, and then pointed to a dark blood stain marring the hardwood floor. "Just look at yourself for instance. Although you think yourself to be the good guy, you've stolen another man's soul, murdered the love of your life, and have done whatever you've had to do to get your next high. So if I were to read the story of your cavalier existence, I'd be rooting for your demise as well."

As was his intention, his words struck Drake with the force of several well placed blows. His lips quivered as he struggled to find fault with anything Lucifer had said, but knew he spoke the truth.

"You see, Drake, you are nothing more than a cruel joke played out by two warring brothers." Lucifer chuckled lightly as he withdrew a baggie of white powder from his pocket. "Your whole existence is a lie contrived by two angels with very different agendas."

"What are you talking about?" Drake asked with eyes riveted on the cocaine Lucifer poured from bag and divided into thin rails with a razor that materialized within his hand.

"Michael wanted a true believer in the Almighty," he paused from straightening the lines of white and pointed at Drake, then continued onward with his work, "so he fought to have Dean's soul placed with a proper Christian family in hopes that with new found beliefs Dean would be more compliant and he would gain his vessel – I, on the other hand, believed if given the proper incentive and motivation, Sam would eagerly agree to anything to get his true and rightful brother back."

"So Sam says yes to you,and he gets Dean back." Drake swallowed hard against the painful lump forming in his throat. "What happens to me when he does say yes?" he went on to add, having no doubt in his mind Sam would choose Dean over him.

"You're a murderer, Drake, you're going to go to Hell." The three demons surrounding Drake chuckled heartily as Lucifer rolled up a twenty dollar bill and held it out to Drake. "Go ahead, you know you want to."

Body trembling with need, Drake squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "No." The moment the word left his mouth, a beefy fist slammed into the middle of his back, knocking him forward as another demon delivered a well-placed shot to his kidneys.

Lucifer held up a hand, stopping the third demon from punching Drake in the face. "You're going to die so with the little time you have left, why deny yourself what you desire more than anything?"

"Because I made a promise to Sam, and I don't intend on breaking it," Drake uttered breathily, and braced himself as another fist connected with his stomach, followed swiftly by an uppercut to the jaw that knocked him clear off his feet. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he pressed his hands to the floor and slowly dragged himself to his feet.

"Why aren't you fighting back?" Lucifer asked, narrowing his eyes on Drake.

"You think I'm worthless and so does Sam, so I really don't see any point in it." Drake tilted his chin defiantly, preparing to take another blow.

Something struck hard against Drake's back, sending him sprawling once again to the ground, and glancing up through blurred vision noticed one of the darker haired demons tossing aside a broken chair. Drawing in a staggering breath, he bit down hard on his lower lip as he planted his hands on the ground, and struggled to stand upright.

"You're proving nothing by being stubborn," Lucifer chided, and with Drake watching, he placed the rolled up bill near his nose, pinched one nostril closed, lowered his head, and breathed in a line of cocaine. "If you choose not to fight at least make it less painful on yourself. Take what I'm offering to you freely, Drake. No one think any less of you than they already do."

"N-No," Drake stammered, vision blurring as yet another fist connected with his cheek. As he struggled to remain upright and conscious, he quietly uttered the Lord's Prayer in Latin which he, Bear, Gary and Jake had learned from Father Callahan when he was no more than eight years old. "Pater noster, qui es in caelis; sanctificetur Nomen Tuun; adveniat Regnum Tuum; fiat voluntas Tua, in cealo, et in terra. Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie; et dimitte nobis debita nostra, Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus notris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a Malo." He wasn't certain if the prayer applied to the situation nor did he care when the demons laughed as he stumbled over the pronunciation of the Latin words he hadn't spoken since he was a little kid in Sunday school, all he knew was when he spoke the prayer it gave him the strength and courage to withstand several more blows before he once again crumpled to the ground.

"Amen," Lucifer concluded with a cynical smile, and rolling his eyes heavenward, he added, "I'm sure He is very impressed that you would cling so desperately to His prayer, but refuse to fight in His honor."

"I'm certain God will understand my reasoning for denying you the pleasure of watching me grovel at your feet for a fix, and will forgive me when I stand before Him to give an account of all my failings."

"Huh," Lucifer abruptly stood from his chair, stalked to Drake, knelt beside him, and gripping hold of his chin, forced him to look him in the eyes. "Michael was right. You would've made for a worthy adversary, but you and I both know this will never come to pass. Sam will say yes to me because he loves his brother, and then you will be nothing more than a bad memory."

"But it's a lie," Drake uttered, pushing Lucifer's hand away from his face. "I am Dean, and just because you tell Sam you can give him his brother back, doesn't make it the truth."

"Unfortunately people only see what they want to see, Dean." Withdrawing a syringe from his pocket, Lucifer removed the stopper, and tapped on the needle. Before Drake could gather up the strength to fight him, two of the demons grabbed hold of his arms, dragged him up onto his knees and the fallen angel injected the drug into his veins. "One man's lie is another man's truth, and if Sam believes you're nothing but a two-bit junkie than it's all the better for me."

SNSNSNSNSN

As San drove back to Naples he ignored the calls from both his father and from Bobby and instead focused all his thoughts on where Lucifer might take Drake. From the note he'd left behind, he'd made it quite clear he wanted Sam to find him, and that left only one place for him to search. The fallen angel also wanted to remind Drake of how he'd killed Jamie, so he would take him to the cabin where she had died.

When he finally reached the wooded area nearby the cabin, he pulled off to the side of the dirt road, and quietly slipped out of the car. After a quick search of the trunk, he pulled out the demon knife, closed the lid and stealthily maneuvered through the thick foliage toward the small backwoods cabin.

Silently he crept upon two demons patrolling the forest, and clamping a hand down hard against the first of the two's mouth, he sliced through its neck. The intoxicating scent of demon blood instantly filled the air, and fighting hard against the overwhelming need to drink it, he went after the second demon, mercilessly plunging the knife into his throat before he had a chance to call out a warning. As he stared longingly at the crimson liquid pouring liberally from the demon's neck, he hastily wiped his blade clean on the demon's shirt before he was overpowered with the desire to taste it.

On the move again, he spied another demon and made quick work of killing it. With his resolve weakening, he made his way through the weeds and brush, and crept to the cabin window to peer inside. Stomach twisting at the sight of Drake laying unconscious and badly beaten on the ground, he glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of the demons he had killed, wishing he had drank their blood to avenge the brutality of the beating his brother had endured.

The longer he watched his brother's motionless body, the more rage built within his heart, but before he had a chance to act on his need for revenge the front door swung open of its own accord, and Lucifer called out to him. "I knew you'd come alone, Sam." A grin split wide across the fallen angel's face as Sam stepped inside the cabin. "Did you get the gifts I sent you?"

"I killed them," Sam responded without remorse, taking another tentative step closer to his little brother, but kept his eyes locked on Lucifer.

"Ahh, but you didn't drink their blood – what a waste." Lucifer shook his head in disappointment. "I'll never understand why you fight so hard against what you are."

"I came for my brother." He opened his mouth to say he wanted Dean back, yet as the words formed on his lips, he heard Dean's voice as clear as if he was standing beside him.

"Don't you do it, Sam. I'll never forgive you if you do." His eyes darted around the room, searching for Dean, but he saw nothing. "I never left you, little brother. I'm right there on the floor waiting for you to save me."

"All you have to do is say the word, Sam, and he's all yours." With an overly pleasant grin, Lucifer leaned forward in his chair and clasping his hand, rested his elbows on his thighs. "The Winchesters reunited once again, and all you have to do is say yes to me."

Sam's gaze slipped briefly to his little brother, and he cringed at the deep bruises marring his face, and then he looked back to Lucifer. "You misunderstood me – I came for Drake not Dean."

Anger sparked in the fallen angel's blue eyes, but his grin never faltered. "You'd truly choose the boy who stole your brother's soul to Dean?"

"No," Sam gave a curt shake of his head, "but I would choose the man who is both Drake and Dean combined."

"And what if I decide you don't get to have either of them?" Glancing at Drake, he went on to add, "I could snap his neck like a twig right now, and there would be nothing you could do to stop me."

"You could, but you won't because it would give me all the more reason to never say yes to you."

"He will say yes to Michael and then you will have nothing." Lucifer leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "You won't be able to stop him from doing it, and you know it your heart it wasn't what Dean wanted – he would have fought to the death before he allowed himself to be Michael's meatsuit."

"Whatever choice he makes, he'll still be my brother," Sam stated with as much bravado as he could muster then without waiting for the fallen angel to respond, he closed the gap between himself and Drake, and carefully hauled him to his feet, hitching an arm behind his back to hold him upright. "So you can either choose to let us leave or you can kill us both right now, but either way we are walking out of here."

"Before this is over, he will hate you, Sam," Lucifer called out to him, briefly stopping Sam as he headed toward the door with his brother. "When his parents are dead because of you and all his friends lay bloody at his feet, you'll be the one he'll despise . . . you know it's true – even Dean for as loyal as he was finally saw the light and realized you just weren't worth the pain anymore."

"Maybe I'm not, but I'm gonna keep trying anyways."

Without another word, Sam strode from the cabin, carefully lifted his brother into a firemen's carry, and headed for the Impala. Once he'd gently placed Drake in the passenger's seat, and Sam was situated behind the steering wheel, he checked over his little brother's injuries, and hissed a curse when he noticed purplish bruise and a needle mark over one of his veins. All they'd worked so hard to accomplish had been undone in a few short hours, and the thought of having to go through detoxing his brother again weighed heavily on Sam's mind.

"Everything's going to be okay, Drake," he uttered softly as Drake cried out in pain as Sam gently touched the deep welts on his right cheek. "I'm going to take you home and fix you up."

"Sss'mmmy," Drake slurred, prying one swollen eye open to a mere squint. "Ya ch-chose me?"

"Yeah, lil' brother, I chose you." Sam smiled, and wondering if Dean would have done the same thing if given the choice, he started the engine, pulled away from the side of the road, and drove toward Gary's house.

"Why?" Drake whispered so softly Sam almost didn't hear him.

"Because I didn't want to lose either you or Dean, so it had to be you."

Licking at his bloodied, swollen lips, Drake murmured, "Mmm'sorry, I-I screwed up, Sss'mmm."

"You didn't," Sam assured, casting a sideways glance in his brother's direction. "We're going to blame this one on dad."

"Mmm'okay with that." Drake tried for a chuckle, but it ended on a soft cry.

The moment Sam pulled into the gravel driveway and honked the horn, John, Bobby rushed outside and hurried to the car. Gary and Bear hung back at the door, apparently waiting for their first glimpse of Dean, but the moment they saw Sam help Drake out of the Impala darted forward to help their friend.

"Holy shit! What the hell did they do to him?" Bear roared, fury darkening his eyes as he took Drake from Sam, lifted him into his arms and carried him back to the house. "I gotcha, lil' man," he added, lowering his voice as he looked down at Drake. "They'll pay for what they did to you, Drake . . . if it takes my last breath, I will hunt them all down."

Sam made to follow his brother, but Gary grasped hold of his arm, and as he turned to look at him, the hazel-eyed man smiled. "I know I was a real jerk earlier . . . I know how much Dean meant to you and given the same situation, I'm not sure I would have made the same choice as you did. So I wanted to say I'm sorry and thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving Drake's life."


	34. Chapter 34

Thanks again for continuing to read my story, and speical hugs for those who have reviewed. Your words of encouragement mean everything to me. Thanks again. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Thirty-four_

Knees folded to his chest with arms resting on top of them, Sam sat on the floor leaning up against the wall as he watched his little brother sleep. When he slept, he looked exactly like Dean, and the softly muffled groans of pain from all the injuries he had sustained only further added to the image. With all his heart he wanted to believe he had done the right thing in saving Drake's life, but the ache he felt when he looked at him made him wonder if he should have said yes to Lucifer instead. More than anything he wanted to see his real brother again, but when he'd heard Dean's voice telling him to save Drake he'd listened.

Still he wondered if he'd made the right decision. Drake wasn't strong enough to stand up to Michael in the way that Dean had, and he worried endlessly that his little brother would say yes to the Archangel when the time came. If he did, it would be Sam's fault as he hadn't really done anything to encourage him otherwise. But now he was beginning to understand what he should have known all long. No one had forcefully taken Dean's soul from him – he'd willingly given it to Drake and in Sam's eyes, he had done it for the best reason of all . . . so they could find a way back to being brothers again without all the hurt and anger that had past between them.

"Dean," he whispered, glancing in Drake's direction, "if you can hear me, I just wanted to let you know I finally understand, but that doesn't mean I won't miss you more than anything."

As he blinked back the tears forming in his eyes and then refocused them on Drake, a faded image of Dean appeared beside the younger man. "Hey there, Sammy, long time no see," Dean said with a peaceful smile the likes of which Sam had never witnessed coming from his brother before, and all he could do was stare wide-eyed at him. "I'm not dead, Sam," he went on to say, "I'm alive in both you and Drake, and it's the best I've felt in a helluva long time." Sam desperately wanted to argue the unfairness of the situation, but seeing the genuine look of happiness in his brother's eyes, he kept his mouth shut. "I'm proud of you, little brother. I watch you through Drake's eyes, and every day when you teach him the things I taught you, I see you grow stronger. You're changing in ways I didn't even think possible, and you're going to be all right, Sam, even though you might not think so right now."

Feeling as if he would shatter into a million pieces if he uttered the words he wanted to say, he chose instead to say, "He made me ride a bull, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean chuckled lightly, "that was kinda my doing . . . I actually couldn't resist the thought of seeing you have a little fun for a change."

A smile briefly flitted across Sam's features, but faded away as he looked at his younger brother sleeping peacefully while blissfully unaware that Dean sat beside him. "He's an addict," he bobbed his head toward Drake, "He's hooked so bad on drugs. I can't watch him every second, Dean, and the moment he had the opportunity he took it."

"No, he didn't, Sam," Dean shook his head vehemently, "Lucifer offered it to him, but he told him no just like you didn't drink the demon's blood even though everything in you wanted to. When he said no, they forced it into his veins."

Raking a hand through his hair, Sam studied his brother, memorizing every line and detail of his face. "I'm not sure I'm cut out to be the older brother," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "And truthfully, I'm not sure how you managed it for so long. It's so damn hard always having this tight knot in my gut, worrying any mistake I make no matter how small will get him killed."

"I'm not going to lie to ya, dude, it's not easy." Dean lifted a hand and gestured around the room. "But luckily whenever I was asleep or passed out cold from drinking or from getting hurt on a hunt, I'd escape to here in my mind."

"Gary told me that," Sam said with a subtle nod of his head. "How come you never told me?"

"I didn't even remember any of it until I saw Drake a few weeks ago," Dean admitted, and then with a chuckle added, "you know how I am afraid of flying," when Sam nodded, he hitched a thumb over his shoulder at Drake, "yeah, well that's his fault. The first time I saw him, he was on an airplane with his family. They were going to Florida on vacation and there was all this turbulence – turbulence is a real bitch." With another short laugh, he disappeared only to reappear beside Sam. "I stayed with him the whole hellishly long flight and we were both terrified out of our freakin' minds thinking the plane was going to crash at any moment."

"What about Jamie?" Sam asked, wondering for the first time if Dean had never truly fallen in love with someone because his heart had belonged to someone he'd never even met.

"I would've died for her, Sammy." Dean locked eyes with Sam for a fleeting moment and then he lowered his head. "It took me nearly five long years to get up the courage to ask her out on a date, and even after I did, it still took Bear, Jasper, and Gary pushing me out the door of my house or I probably would've stood her up."

"If you loved her so much, why didn't you marry her?"

"I couldn't let Drake do that," Dean muttered with a shake of his head as he glanced over at Drake. "No matter how much I loved her, I knew in my heart it would end badly . . . I knew she would end up dying like mom did, and so I forced him to break up with her the night he went to ask her to marry him."

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Sam swallowed hard recalling the broken look he'd witnessed in Drake's eyes when he'd accidentally murdered Jamie, and now felt his brother's pain even more acutely knowing how much it must have killed Dean inside to watch the love of his life die after he'd done everything in his power to prevent it from happening. "I should've –"

"There was nothing you could've done," Dean cut him off before he had a chance to finish his thoughts. "Jamie was only alive because Meg was using her." Raking a hand through his hair, he drew in a shaky breath, and then went on to say, "Don't let dad leave, Sammy." He looked from Sam to Drake and then back again. "We – I mean Drake and dad had a fight, and dad told him he would leave today . . . we can't become a real family if he leaves, so you have to make him stay."

Sam thought back to the look of uncertainty in their father's eyes when he'd returned from his walk with Drake. Even in Sam's earliest memories of John, there was always an air of powerful arrogance within the brown depths of his eyes, but slowly as he spent more time with Drake he was losing some of his self-assured domineering manner, and surprisingly Sam found that like Dean he wanted his father to stick around.

"How am I supposed to do that, Dean?" Sam pushed himself to his feet, and set to pacing as he tried to figure out a way to make them a family after they'd spent their whole lives tearing each other apart all in the sake of protecting each other. "I'm just like dad – I've taken off on you more times than I even want to admit to, and I've thought of leaving Drake just as often, so what you're asking is impossible." With a heavy sigh, he turned his back on Dean. "I'm sorry, but I don't know how to hold this family together any better than he does."

"Sure you do," Dean chided, "you just need to stop searching for a way to bring me back, dig your heels in, and fight for what's really important."

"And what's really important?" He swung to look at his brother only to find Dean gone and then saw Drake struggling to sit upright in bed.

"Family. It's what's worth living for and it's certainly worth dying for," Drake responded finishing Dean's thought without skipping a beat. "And for as powerful and smart as Lucifer may think he is, he'll never understand the bond we share."

Sam glanced back to where Dean had been sitting, cursed under his breath for missing what might be his last opportunity to tell his older brother how much he meant to him and to say sorry for all the hurt he'd caused along the way, and then refocused his attention on Drake. "How ya feeling?" he asked, studying the deep purplish bruises and cuts smattered across his little brother's face.

"I feel like I pissed off Lucifer and got my ass kicked by three demons." Drake tried for a grin, but with a heavy groan, grimaced as he touched his fingertips to his cheek. "I messed up, Sammy, just like you knew I would – maybe I was wrong . . . maybe I'm not cut out to be a hunter like you or Dean."

"No, I was wrong." Sam trudged the short distance to the bed, and slumped down beside his brother. "There was this one time when Dean and I were between hunts – we were out at a bar, and I went outside to wait for him . . . I'd let my guard down and the next thing I knew I was knocked out cold and locked in a cage by this whacked out family who hunted people for sport. If it hadn't been for Dean, searching until he found me, I'm not sure I would've made it out of there."

"The Benders," Drake breathed in a barely audible whisper, "I remember them."

"They'd be hard to forget." Sam chuckled mirthlessly at how easily his little brother could recall some of the bad things that had happened in Dean's and his lives, but always failed to remember the good. "What I'm trying to say is that no matter how good you are at something, you're going to need help at some point – that's what I'm here for . . . it's why we're brothers."

Biting at his lower lip, Drake lowered his head. "I know you're not going to believe me, Sam, but I didn't take the cocaine he offered me . . . I really tried to keep my promise to you, and I'm sorry I wasn't able to."

"I believe you."

"Why?" Drake cast a quizzical glance in his direction, but once again lowered his head before Sam could make eye contact. "You know my track record, and have guessed at how far I'd sink into the gutter to get high, so why would you believe me now?"

Sam was silent for several long moments, thinking of all Dean had said to him while Drake was asleep and also remembering how much he had wanted to gorge himself on demon's blood, and then gave his brother a slight shrug. "When I was trying to save you, I killed three demons," he hesitated as a flash of crimson spilling from the fallen demons entered his mind, and licking at his lips at the thought of how good it would have tasted, he heaved a weary sigh and pushed onward, "You have no idea how much I wanted to drink their blood . . . and truthfully I almost did – God, I really wanted to, but then I remembered how many times I'd lied and hurt Dean in the process, and I didn't want to do that to you – that's why I believe you."

"Even if you do, it doesn't change a thing." He briefly held a shaky hand in front of Sam's face before raking it through his hair. "I'm still as hooked on drugs as I ever was, and even if I did say no this once, it's only a matter of time before I breakdown and go back to using."

"Not while I'm around, you won't, lil' brother," Sam vowed, "and since I don't plan on going anywhere, I'd have to say your days of doing drugs are over with it."

"Sammy, I don't wanna go through withdrawal again," Drake admitted, and with shoulders drooping he drew in a shaky breath. "It was so hard the first time – too damn hard, an' I don't think I can do it again."

Momentarily struck speechless at the utter desperation in Drake's tone along with the fearful honesty of his confession, Sam fumbled for the right words to say. It was terrifyingly new territory for him as Winchesters' never voiced their fears – with Dean it had always been 'M'okay' no matter how broken he was or how bad things had gotten and John had always too busy barking orders to show any sort of emotion save for anger. Somewhere along the line, Sam had merged those two ways of dealing with whatever was going on in his life, and now with startling clarity realized how emotionally unavailable he'd become. _Do a job, move along. Don't get involved. Don't care too much for anyone because they wouldn't be around for long. And God forbid if we should ever admit we don't think we can handle something on our own – That's just not the Winchester way of doing things – or at least it wasn't until now._

"You won't be alone." He smiled reassuringly. "I'll be here with you the whole time . . . we'll get through this, you and me just like we did the last time."

"What about John?" Drake asked, accepting Sam's offer of help without question. When Sam hesitated in responding, Drake slowly pushed himself to his feet, wrapped an arm around his mid-section, and with a groan of pain, lumbered to the boarded up window and laid a hand on the wooden frame. "He's pissed because I screwed up, right?"

"No," Sam paused, trying to figure out how to get Drake to ask John to stay. It was what Dean wanted – he wanted them to be a real family, and if it was the very last thing Sam ever did he would make certain his older brother got his wish. "He's packing his stuff to leave, Drake. He wants to stay – I can see it in his eyes, but he won't unless you tell him you need him to."

"But I don't need him, Sam," Drake was quick to respond, but as he turned to look at Sam, he could see the pained expression crossing his features that had nothing to do with his injuries. "He left me alone so many times . . . left Dean, and if given the chance he'll do it again. I can't let him do that to me . . . I – Dean loved him too much and he used that love to make him into nothing more than a soldier – yes sir, no sir . . . I can't have a fucking opinion without your say so, sir – I don't want that, Sammy, and neither does Dean."

"Maybe he doesn't want things how they were, but he does want us to be a family, Drake," Sam smoothly countered, and getting to his feet, he walked to his brother. "You know that even better than I do. So I'm asking you for Dean, please talk to dad and make him see that you want him to stay."

"I don't know if I can." With a shake of his head, Drake let out a heavy sigh. "And even if I could I already have my own – " his voice trailed off abruptly as a knock came at the bedroom door, and a moment later John pushed it open, and leaned against the doorframe instead of coming inside the room.

John cast a furtive glance in Drake's direction, frowned, and then focused his attention on Sam. "I'm going to be heading out." He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure he was okay before I left," he went on to say without looking at Drake.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Sam asked, stalking the short distance to his father. "I'm not going to do what Dean did, Dad," pursing his lips, Sam shook his head, "I won't put myself in between the two of you like he did for us. It tore him apart inside having to always be the peacekeeper. So if you and Drake have a problem with each other, then you're going to have to work it out for yourselves." With that said, he pushed his father aside, and stormed from the room.


	35. Chapter 35

Thanks for taking the time to read, and a special thanks for those of you who have left really awesome comments. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Thirty-five_

Slack-jawed, John watched his eldest son leave, and then turned to face Drake. Drake cursed under his breath, wishing at that moment he had chosen to fight the demons that'd attack him so his father wouldn't think he was completely helpless. Suddenly aware of how badly he was trembling, he tucked his hands beneath his arms in hopes that John wouldn't notice. The older man's gaze swept over him, and Drake felt himself straightening despite the stinging pain spreading across his back and chest. No matter how much it hurt to do so, he grinned and cursed again as his father's scowl deepened.

"You look like hell," John commented, taking a few steps into the room, but stayed close enough to the door to make a hasty exit if the conversation didn't go his way.

Drake chuckled weakly. "I would say you should see the other guys, but then you'd probably look angrier than you do right now."

"I don't know what Sam was thinking, he should've never let you go off by yourself."

"I know, he should've stood there holding my hand the whole time we were hunting so I wouldn't fall and scrap my knee." With a groan of frustration, Drake turned his back on the older hunter. "You're being ridiculous, John, and I highly doubt there's a person alive who could measure up to your expectations."

"The only expectation I have is that my two sons outlive me." John took several more steps toward Drake. "When I saw Sam diving frantically through the waves searching for your body – God, Drake you have no idea how that twisted in my gut fearing I'd lost you when I haven't even gotten the chance to know you yet."

"You say you want to know me, but how much do you know the son who's been in your life the whole time?" Slowly turning to face John, Drake lifted a brow, grimacing as a cut above his left eye pulled taut with the effort. "I know you don't remember Dean, but can you honestly say you know anything at all about Sam?"

John opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and Drake watched as the hunter's fists clenched.

"God, John, he's right out there!" Moisture gathering in his eyes, Drake gestured toward the entrance of the room. "But he might as well be across the country for all the distance you've put between the two of you – Our mother died, and it was tragic as all hell, but you died that night, too, only you didn't have the good sense to lie down. So now you're just a ghost – a vengeful spirit thoroughly hellbent on killing whatever you have left in this world."

"Whatever I've done I've done to protect my family, and I won't feel ashamed of it," John gritted out, coming to stand face to face with Drake.

"I'm not asking you to stop protecting this family, dad, I'm asking to finally become a part of it for better or worse . . . me and Sam deserve that after all the lousy Christmas' we've had, an' for all the crummy motels we've been stuck in while you were out hunting, an' for all the quick in an' outs we've pulled in too many towns to mention . . . if you want to be my father I expect and deserve nothing less than the amount of devotion you've given to hunting, anything less than that an' you might as well walk out that door right now an' don't look back."

"Don't you think that's what I want?" John shouted, narrowing his eyes on Drake. "Don't you think that's what I've been fighting for all this time?"

"Well, stop fighting, John, because the harder you do the more you push away the people who care about you the most . . . I'm standing right here, dad, an' I wanna be your son more than anything, but I can't let myself love you the way you are – it hurts way too much."

"What about your other father?" John asked, and lowering his head slightly he glanced up at Drake. The hurt and pain he saw in his father's eyes staggered him, leaving him momentarily speechless. "Your other family . . . what about them, Drake?"

"Nothing's ever going to change how I feel about my parents, but that doesn't mean I don't have room for you or Sam in my life – This whole situation is so fucked up, but you were my dad first, John, and I need you more than you could ever know." He raised a shaky arm and pointed at the bruised needle mark marring his skin. "My whole life I've always been searching for something, feeling like I was missing out on something really important, but I never knew what it was – I have a great life, a perfect family, amazing friends, and yet I've always felt completely lost. Then you two came along with your whole kill the demons save the world crap . . . and for as screwed up as my life's been since you and Sam came into it I still need you both to make sense of things."

"You're asking me to change everything I am to be what you need, Drake," voice trailing, John shook his head as he turned his back on Drake. "I've been at this for too long to up and change overnight."

"You've already done it once before, John," Drake countered, circling around to face his father. "The night mom died – before that night you were this guy who would take his little boy out in the backyard to play catch with . . . we'd sneak out for ice cream while mom was cooking dinner, an' you said it would always be our little secret, but she always knew when neither of us were hungry when it came time to eat . . . God, we always went fishing in that stream near our house – Don't you remember? You'd always laughed your ass off when I dragged along that huge white bucket to fish with instead of using a pole – you were a great dad at one time, you just need to remember how to be that person again."

Eyes glistening, John shook his head again. "I don't remember any of those things – for as much as I wish I could, I don't remember Dean or any of the times we spent together."

"Maybe you just don't want to remember."

"He doesn't," Dean spoke up, drawing Drake's attention to the older version of himself. Dean stood leaning against the wall, eyes focused solely on his father. "If he remembered then he'd have to admit that maybe he made a mistake in how he choose to deal with our mother's death." He met and held Drake's gaze, and a sad smile flitted across his features. "He shut us out, Drake. He made us soldiers instead of sons, but it wasn't his fault, he didn't know how to deal with losing her on top of raising two boys on his own . . . hunting was like an escape for him – it made sense, it was something he could actively do to protect us when he couldn't protect her."

Biting pensively at his lower lip, Drake studied Dean for several long moments, and then shifted his gaze to their father. "I'm not a soldier, dad. I'm your son, but I'd willingly fight an' die by your side if you'd just stop running away from the family you have left."

"He won't do it, Drake," Dean interjected as John stood silent staring at Drake. "He's been running for so long, he doesn't know how to stand still. He never took the time to learn that we were always strongest when we stood together as a family – so it was always just been me and Sammy . . . we were a family and he was some distant relation who showed up once in a while to give us money."

"John, I'm asking you to stay – I'm asking you to be a part of this family. A fulltime member of this family – no half measures."

"I don't know how to be a father, Drake," John finally admitted, lowering his head. "Back before this all began, I really thought I could've been a good dad, doing all the things you said, fishing, playing ball, teaching you all the things my father taught me, but when Mary died . . . ." his voice trailed as he scrubbed a hand through his beard.

"That was a long time ago, dad," Drake uttered softly, placing a hand on his father's shoulder, "but we have a chance now . . . Dean gave us this chance. He wants us to be the family he never had, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens. We will become a family again – I swear we will."

John opened his mouth to speak, but before he had a chance to utter a single word, Bear came rushing into the room, pushed John out of the way, and gripped a firm hold of Drake's arm. "Drake, we have to go. Now!"

"What's wrong?" Drake shouted as Bear dragged him toward the doorway.

"We just got a fire call, and we really need to be there," Bear responded evasively, hurrying Drake down the hallway. "Gary's already got our gear, an' he's waiting for us in the truck."

"Bear, I can't go." Drake stopped short, and yanked his arm free of the bigger man's hold on him. "I wouldn't be helping anyone, an' I'd probably ended up getting someone hurt."

"He's not in any condition to be fighting fires," John argued, chasing them down the hallway and came to stand in between the two men. "He just got the hell beat out of him last night, and in case you hadn't noticed he's shaking like all hell from withdrawal! If you need to be there then go, but my son is staying here!"

"Do you think I'm stupid? I won't let him go inside, but he needs to be there!" Bear narrowed eyes on the older hunter, and then looked to Drake. "It's your dad, Drake. There's a three alarm blaze at the winery . . . people were trapped inside. Your father went in to help get them out. They came out – he didn't."

"Why did my dad go in?" Drake uttered, now following Bear as he rushed through the living room, heading toward the front door. "Th-there must be a mistake – you had to have heard wrong. My dad hasn't gone in to do search an' rescue since he became Battalion Chief."

"Him, Ray, Marcus and George were first on scene," Bear replied, hurriedly filling Drake in on the details as they raced across the front yard toward Gary's truck. "When they heard people were still trapped inside the plant, they quickly made the decision to go in before the place was fully involved – somehow your father got separated from them as they were leaving the building, and no one's heard from him since."

Drake swallowed hard against the thick knot forming in his throat. "How long's he been missing?"

"About fifteen minutes," Bear answered gravely, stopping briefly to look Drake in the eyes. "He'll be okay, Drake. We'll get him out of there." For all his assurances, Drake could still hear the tremor of fear in his voice as he spoke, and it set his heart beating at a frantic pace.

"I can't lose my dad, Bear." With a shake of his head, Drake looked from Bear to Gary waiting for them in the truck. "I can't lose any more of my family . . . i-it would kill me."

"I swear you won't," Bear vowed, "We're gonna go in, an' get him out."

Out of the corner of his eye, Drake spotted Sam racing out of the house with John close behind, but before either Winchester had a chance to speak a word or try to stop him, he and Bear hopped into the truck, slammed the door and Gary took off down the driveway. As he struggled to put on his gear, wincing with almost every subtle movement, Gary and Bear tried to fill him in on the information they'd learned from Marcus, but his mind was so scattered he couldn't focus on what they were saying.

Several times during the relatively short drive fire dispatch came over Gary's radio, calling out for more help, dispatching ambulances, and advising on further information as it was relayed to them. As with the fire in Prattsburgh and the one at his own house Drake grimly noted how unnatural and all-consuming the winery fire sounded. Although he tried to push the thought from his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if Lucifer was responsible for the fire, and if he was, how did his father stand a chance?

"Marcus is waiting for us at the south entrance," Bear spoke up as they came to the parking lot of the winery. "He's got lines trained on our entry point keeping it clear of fire."

"What kind of time frame are we looking at here?" Gary asked, looking first toward the inferno rolling skyward from the massive building, and then to Bear.

"Her west flank's crumbled and the entire northern section is completely involved – he says the most we've got is fifteen minutes to get in an' out."

"How's the roof?" Drake asked, peering at the blaze through swollen eyes.

"Lemme check," Bear replied, and then grabbing out his walkie-talkie, hit the call button. "Markus, how's that roof holding out?"

Within a matter of moments, Markus' voice came over the radio. "Engine 45 and 62 had four teams up there, but called them down about five minutes ago – she's unstable, but vented, so hopefully we won't get any backdrafts when we're in there."

Bear's gaze ticked from the southern section of the building to Drake and back again. He then hit the button to call back to their fellow firefighter. "We're rolling up now. Be ready."

"Already at the entrance," Marcus responded after a brief silence.

The moment the truck came to a stop, the three firefighters hopped out of the vehicle, grabbed their gear and headed toward the fire.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

"You should've stopped him, dad!" Sam shouted, casting a glare in his father's direction as he drove toward the winery. "He's gonna end up getting himself killed, an' it'll be your damn fault!"

"What was I supposed to do, Sam?" John argued, gesturing toward Gary's truck. "Once Bear told him his father was trapped inside a burning building, he forgot he was in no condition to be fighting fires and raced out of the house."

"We have to stop him!" With a bitter curse, Sam slammed his hand down hard against the steering wheel. "We have to do something, dad, I can't lose my brother again . . . I won't lose him again."

"You have to trust your brother, Sam." Squinting, John eyed the thick black smoke rising from the distant burning building, and raked a hand through his hair. "God help them if they get my son killed," he growled, turning to look at Sam. "I know they were doing what Drake would've wanted them to do, but they knew he was in no shape to go with them." His hands curled into tight fists as he leaned forward in his seat to get his first real good look at the engulfed building. "Damn it, he could barely stand on his own – there's no way in hell he'll be able to walk with an oxygen tank strapped to his back."

"He's Dean, he won't care if he's injured, and he'll push himself through the pain because someone he cares about is in danger."

"He's going to die just like Mary did . . . I-I can't lose another person like this, Sam." Brown eyes glistening, John looked to Sam, silently pleading with him to do something to protect Drake from the same thing that had taken Mary from them. "He wanted us to be a family, an' instead of telling him what he wanted to hear, I told him I didn't know how to be a father to anyone – what if that's the last thing I ever get to say to him?"


	36. Chapter 36

Thanks for reading and for the really great comments. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Thirty-six_

"Drake, you're not going in there," Bear shouted, gripping a hold of Drake's arm as Drake tried to put on his facemask. "I promised John I wouldn't let you, an' I'm not about to break that promise to him."

"Le' go of me!" Drake jerked his arm free, and pushed the mask down over his face. He could feel his knees buckling, the heavy turnout gear making it extremely difficult to keep his balance as he added the weight of the oxygen tank onto his injured back. Gritting his teeth through the pain as the tank came to rest against the deep bruising marring his skin, he drew in a ragged breath, and held very still until he was fairly certain he wouldn't fall over or pass out cold.

"Listen, lil' man," Bear tried again, pointing toward one of the ambulances parked a safe distance away from the building, "you're mother's right over there – she's the reason you needed to be here – so take off that damn gear and go be with her!"

Drake glanced in his mother's direction, saw her golden blond hair blow across her face in the stiff breeze, and then looked back at his friend. "I'm going in – so you can either come in with me or I can go it alone, it doesn't make any difference to me." Without saying another word or waiting for his best friend to follow, Drake made for the entrance of the winery.

"Drake!" Gary shouted, hurried to catch up with him, and pulled him back from the entrance. "Don't forget your training – two in – two out . . . Me an' Bear will take the lead, you and Markus keep us a path clear."

"No." Drake shook his head, thinking of his mother waiting for them to bring her husband back to her, and knew he wouldn't be able to face her if he didn't do everything in his power to save his father. "My mom's out there waiting to see him again, an' I'm gonna bring him back to her."

Knowing precious moments were slipping by as they argued Gary gave a curt nod, and then shifted to look at Bear and Markus. "Stick together an' keep a path clear for us – let's go, Drake."

"You know you're putting all our lives at risk, right?" Gary shouted above the roar of flames and shattering wine bottles, and hastily reached out to grasp hold of Drake as he nearly stumbled over fallen debris. "If you weren't like a little brother to me, your ass would've been out of here – hell, the Chief's gonna have my hide when he finds out I let you talk your way into this place."

Concentrating on slowing his rapid breathing, Drake merely grunted a response, grateful the older firefighter had thought to talk about his father as if he were still alive. Every nerve in his body twitched and trembled, and he couldn't be certain if it were from fear or withdrawal, but either way he pushed himself forward through the maze of fallen timber, glass and debris, listening for any sound that might alert him to where his father might found.

Heat flushed his face, sweat trickling from his brow. "I can't freakin' breathe or see with this stupid thing on," he rasped, struggling to see through the mask.

"Keep it on!" Gary shouted the order, and at nearly the same time Drake heard Dean's voice telling him the same thing, but ignoring both of them and disregarding all his training, he still he clutched for the mask to rip it off. "I said keep it on!" Gripping hold of Drake's hand, Gary yanked it away from his face. "You'll be no help in saving your father if you're dead, Drake! So either do what I tell you to do or I swear to God, I'll haul your ass out of here!"

"I'm not going anywhere without my father!" Drake jerked his arm free, pushed past Gary and took the lead.

Choked with thick black smoke, the hellish blaze raged from all around them. The roar of the flames, punctuated by crashing timber, heated steel, and crunch of glass beneath his feet, echoed in Drake's ears making it almost impossible to hear a call for help, but still he craned his neck and strained to listen for his father's voice. His squinted, swollen eyes darted back and forth from mounds of fallen debris to outlying offices, searching for his father.

"We're going to find him," came Dean's strong reassuring voice from alongside Drake, and shoulder to shoulder they moved as one through the burning wreckage.

_I don't know if I can do this, Dean, _Drake worried silently, knowing Dean would hear his thoughts. The weight of the oxygen tank crushed down on his injured back, and his legs trembled with the effort of keeping himself upright and moving along the narrow winding path he'd cut through with his ax. _Dad's in here somewhere dying and all I can think about is how I wish I was high – it would be a helluva lot easier if I was . . . ._

"I know you think getting high is the answer, just like I always thought getting drunk out of my mind would make the pain go away, but it's taking everything from you . . . from us, so I'll be damned if I let you ruin our life." Wrapping a firm arm around Drake, Dean kept him steady on his feet, pushing him forward toward an office that wasn't engulfed in flames.

_What if he's already dead? _Swallowing hard, Drake looked to the older version of himself, and saw the same fears in Dean's eyes that he knew were mirrored in his own. _I can't take losing my father . . . when John died . . . when we burned his body . . . ._

"It killed me inside," Dean uttered, lowering his head.

Gary threw out an arm and grasped hold of Drake, stopping him in his tracks, and then bobbed his head in the direction of the office they were heading toward. "Do you hear that? It sounds like someone shouting for help."

Craning his neck, Drake stood as still as he could possibly manage, and strained his ears to listen. At first all he could detect were the sounds of fiery destruction, but slowly he focused in on the raspy sound of his father's voice. "He's alive!"

Spurred on by his father's voice, Drake hacked away the burning timber blocking his path, and once cleared he rushed forward, mindless of all else except for saving his father. His father's voice grew louder, and hope rekindled, he pushed aside fallen debris blocking the doorway. With Gary close behind, he entered the office, and frantically searched for his dad, but couldn't find him.

"Drake!" Dean grabbed hold of his arm, trying to pull him back out of the room, but Drake held rooted to his spot. "You've gotta get out of here! NOW!" he shouted, eyes locked on the ceiling.

"Dr-Dra . . . ." came his father's weakened voice again, and locating the direction in which it was coming from, Drake's head fell back on his shoulders, and he, too, looked to where Dean was looking.

"DAD!" Drake screamed, tears blurring his vision as he watched his father's blood drip to splatter on the floor below. His father opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could utter a word, fire exploded across the ceiling, engulfing him within its hellish flames. "NO!" Rushing forward, Drake frantically searched for a way to reach his dad, but before he made it halfway across the room, Gary grabbed hold of him and yanked him backward.

"We can't save him, Drake!" Widened eyes locked on Drake's father, Gary pulled Drake back out of the room.

"Le'go!" Drake squirmed and fought against the older firefighter's hold on him. "I have to save him, Gary!"

"He's gone!" Gary shouted in Drake's ear, wrapping both arms around Drake and yanking him further away from the now completely engulfed office. "We have to get out of here – you can't help him, Drake . . . he's already gone."

"No, he was right there – you saw him . . . he called out to me. We have to go back – W-we have to save him," Drake pleaded, eyes burning with unshed tears.

"If we go back, we're all dead, an' your father wouldn't want that!"

As Gary struggled to drag him backward through the fiery maze, Drake kept his sights locked on the room, waiting for his father to somehow miraculously appear in the doorway, but all hope faded as flames burst through the darkened opening.

"I can't leave him." With a shake of his head, Drake redoubled his efforts, fighting desperately to break free of his friend's hold on him, but just as he broke free, Bear gripped hold of him, arms tightening viselike, hauled him over his shoulder and rushed toward the entrance of the building.

Once at a safe distance away from the winery, Bear set him on the ground and pulled him into a bone crushing embrace. "I'm so sorry, Drake," he murmured against Drake's ear. "I'm so damn sorry."

"You have to help me, Bear," Drake pleaded, pulling away from the bigger man, "my dad's still in there, we have to get him out!"

"We can't," Bear sadly shook his head, "the whole place is coming down. We'd never make it out of there."

"I don't care, I have to save him!" Staunchly refusing to believe his father was dead, Drake pushed away from his friend, and raced back toward the crumbling inferno, but once again another pair of strong arms gripped hold of him, lifted him off the ground, and within a matter of moments set him down lightly inside of the Impala.

"I know you wanted to save him, Drake, but you can't," John softly uttered, placing a hand on Drake's shoulder to keep him in his spot. "He wouldn't want you to die this way – I don't want you to die this way."

"I don't care what you want, John. He's my father!" Tears cascading unchecked, Drake opened his mouth to argue further, but hearing a deep rumble followed by the building collapsing in upon itself, he fell silent.


	37. Chapter 37

Thanks for reading and for all the really great comments everyone has shared with me. hugs, ember

_Chapter Thirty-seven_

Dressed in the only suit he owned, Sam stood poised to knock on the front door of Drake's house, but as he struggled to think of what he should say to his brother, he yanked his hand away and stuffed it into his pocket. It had been two days since the younger man's father had died in the fire at the winery, and in that time Sam hadn't seen or heard from Drake once. If it hadn't been for Bear and Gary giving him the information on when the funeral would take place, he would have more than likely held off longer before confronting his brother.

Glancing back at the Impala, he saw his father nudge his head toward the door, and once again raised a hand to knock, but never got the chance as the door swung open and a middle aged blond-haired woman jumped startled to find him standing on her doorstep.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely, rubbing at her red-rimmed grayish-blue eyes.

Sam cleared his throat and with a faint smile he said, "My name's Sam Winchester – I'm a friend of Drake's. Is he here?"

"You're Sam Winchester?" Her brows pulled together slightly, and when he nodded she held up a finger for him to wait as she went back inside. Within a matter of moments she returned and handed him an envelope. "Drake's only said two things since his father died – he wanted me to give you this when you came looking for him – he said it was important that you had it, and then he told me to tell you to go away and never come back." Drawing in a shaky breath, she went on to say, "Since then he just sits in his room all day – I don't think he's sleeping, he won't eat . . . I can't even get him to get dressed for the funeral."

The moment he touched the envelope and felt the contents inside, he knew it was Dean's amulet, and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. "Mrs. Marlowe, can I please come in and talk to him?"

"I don't know if that's such a good idea." With a quick glance over her shoulder toward the staircase, she looked back to Sam and shook her head. "I don't want to upset him more than he already is – maybe if you came back in a few days. . . ." her voice trailed as she drew in a staggered breath.

"Look, I promise I won't stay long, but I really need to talk to him." Sam held his breath as he waited for her answer, praying she would give in, but doubting she would. He needed to see his little brother, needed to know if he was okay, yet from the sounds of things, he knew that wasn't the case. If he was alone and hurting, it would only be a matter of time before he searched out a way to hide from his pain and Sam couldn't let that happen. "Please, Mrs. Marlowe, it's really important."

Uncertainty filled her glistening eyes, and biting at her lower lip, she finally conceded with a slight nod. "His bedroom's upstairs – the last room on the right. We're supposed to be at the church in an hour, so if there was some way you could get him to get ready to go, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'll try," Sam managed to say, giving her an awkward half-smile as he slipped past her and headed up the stairs.

As he rounded the corner, Drake's cousins came darting out of one of the bedrooms and raced past him, bounding down the stairs and out of sight. Although he should have expected they would come for the funeral, the thought of more of Drake's family in potential danger set Sam on edge, and he had no doubt his little brother would be feeling the same way.

When he reached Drake's bedroom, he glanced down and noticed a trail of salt in front of the door, and as he looked back down the hallway he saw salt lining each of the other doorways as well. A grim smile slipped across Sam's features, relieved that his brother had thought to safeguard his home.

He knocked on the door, waited several long moments, but when Drake failed to responded, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of his little brother – it was exactly like looking at Dean in the months following his return from Hell. Dark circles smudged the rims of his dull green eyes. He hadn't shaved in days, and if Sam wasn't mistaken, his little brother was still wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing before the fire at the winery. He sat on his mattress, sharpening a knife that looked very similar to the one Dean had owned, and beside the bed there were several guns that appeared to have been checked and cleaned recently.

"Hey, lil' brother," he said, taking a seat on a chair beside the bed. He didn't expect Drake to respond, and wasn't surprised when his brother continued to sharpen his knife as if he hadn't even noticed Sam enter the bedroom. "I came to go with you to your father's funeral," he added, and saw his brother pause momentarily from his task, his hand tightening around the handle of the blade.

Red-rimmed eyes briefly met and held his gaze before Drake lowered his head and continued onward with his work, leaving Sam to carry on with the awkward one-sided conversation. "It wasn't your fault, Drake. You did everything you could do to save your dad, so you can't blame yourself for his death."

Sam leaned over and placed the envelope Drake's mother had given to him on the bed beside his brother. "This belongs to you – it's always been yours, so I won't take it back." Drake peered down at the envelope, and then through veiled lashes looked up at Sam. "Drake, you need to get up, get showered and dressed so you can go to your father's funeral."

"Why?" Drake finally responded with a shaky breath and subtle shrug. "He's not there . . . it's just a goddamned empty casket – or hell, maybe they scooped up some of the ashes from the rubble and threw them in there so it would feel like we were actually burying him properly."

Gary had told Sam how they'd found Drake's father on the ceiling in one of the offices, and further explained how the ceiling had burst into flames shortly after they'd found the Fire Chief. Drake had witnessed the whole thing which in all likelihood was Lucifer's intention. He'd wanted to drive an insurmountable wedge between Sam and Drake, and used the younger man's father to achieve his goal, but in doing so he only served to make Sam more determined than ever to bring his family together as Dean had wanted.

"I should've saved him, Sam, but instead I was too busy trying to replace him . . . how do I live with the knowledge that while he was dying I was asking John to be a father to me?" Tossing his knife onto the bedside table, Drake drew in a ragged breath. "I can't . . . an' there's no way for me to ask him to forgive me for what I've done."

"Drake, your father didn't die because of anything you said or did, and I won't let you blame yourself. You loved your father and he knew it."

"Whether he knew it or not, it doesn't change a thing. He's still dead, and we both know it's because of me."

Unable to meet Drake's eyes, Sam peered around his brother's room, gaze stopping short when he spied a razor blade on his brother's desk. On one side of the thin piece of steel he noticed faint white trails, and on the other side he saw two lines of cocaine intersecting to form a cross. He looked back to his brother. His red-rimmed eyes were dilated – something he should have noticed the moment he walked in the door, but conveniently overlooked.

"Are you high?" he asked, although he didn't really need any further confirmation.

"What do you think?"

"I think you're chasing a high to escape from reality – Dean drank to block out his pain . . . I ran away, but you – you're trying to kill yourself. I can't let that happen. So if I have to, I'll drag your ass out of here, lock you up somewhere and keep you there until you're off drugs for good – an' believe me when I say I don't care how long it'll take because I'm not going to let you leave me behind again!" Sam pushed to his feet, strode the distance to the desk.

"Sam, don't!" Drake shouted, leapt to his feet just as Sam swiped a hand across the surface, scattering the remaining powder. "I needed that!"

"I need you – I can't do this alone!" Sam shouted back, recalling how Dean said nearly the same thing to him once.

"Yes, you can."

"Well, I don't want to," Sam mimicked the words his older brother had spoken to him, finally realizing how hard Dean struggled to keep what little family they had together. "I'm not giving up on you – I'm not letting any more demons tear our family apart."

"Our family?" Gesturing between the two of them, Drake's brows pulled together incredulously as he narrowed his eyes on Sam. "You talk about our family, but what about mine? What about my dad?" Drake repeatedly jabbed a finger into his chest. "I watched my father burn on that ceiling an' there wasn't a damn thing I could do to save him . . . he needed me, an' I let him die."

"An' you wanted to stay right there with him . . . ." Swallowing hard against the thick lump forming his throat, Sam closed the gap between them, and looked his brother square in the eye. "I know how that feels, Drake. I watched my girlfriend Jessica die the same way, and just like Gary pulled you out of that burning building, Dean pulled me out. I would've stayed and died with her . . . God, you don't have any idea how much I wanted to – I loved her so damn much. Then finding her killer was the only thing I could think about for the longest time, and it fueled so much hatred in my heart that at times it terrified the hell out of me . . . I was so afraid of what I was capable of doing – of what I might become . . . ."

Confusion furrowed at Drake's brow as he stared long and hard at Sam. "You never told that to Dean."

"I've never told that to anyone before, but now I'm telling you both."

With a faint smile, Drake held up a single finger. "That's one . . . you still owe me nine more." His smile faded, and turning his back on Sam he trudged to his bed and slumped down onto the mattress. Head lowered, he raked a hand through his shaggy bangs, and then glanced up at Sam. "We can't beat the devil, Sammy. He'll keep finding ways to tear us apart until you give in an' say yes so how do we stand a chance?"

"I don't believe that." Sam took a seat beside his brother, leaned forward to rest his arms on his thighs, and clasped his hands together. "We're family, Drake. More than family . . . Dean – he's still lives through you an' me, an' that's gotta mean something."

"It's not enough, Sam. You're not strong enough . . . I'm not strong enough."

"Maybe we're not strong enough when we're alone, but we aren't alone." Sam drew in a slow measured breath as he thought of all the times he'd left Dean to fend for himself, and vowed it would never happen again. "They believe it's our destiny to fight each other in the end – but I think our true destiny is being brothers through it all, come Hell or high water, an' that's something angels and demons can never understand."

"You said they want us to fight each other," Drake met and held Sam's gaze, "why?"

For what seemed the longest time, Sam remained silent, fearing if he told Drake he was Michael's vessel he would agree to do as the archangel wanted him to do. But then he realized it was his brother's decision to make, and could only pray he would make the right choice. "You're Michael's vessel – I'm Lucifer's vessel . . . you're Michael's, an' we're supposed to fight it out to the death to determine if everyone lives or dies."

"I'm what?" Drake's green eyes grew wide as understanding dawned on him. Pursing his lips, he shook his head. "I won't do it, Sam, I won't be the one to determine everyone else's fate – I'm just a stupid firefighter from Nowhere America – God would never ask that of me."

"I think God wants us to make a choice," Sam said with a slight smile, "I think He's tired of brothers always turning on each other, fighting bitterly, killing each other – Cain an' Abel . . . Michael an' Lucifer – He wants us to choose to be brothers first and foremost, and He's waiting for us to realize that."

With a curt nod, Drake asked, "How am I supposed to keep my mother safe?"

"No matter what it takes, we'll keep her safe," Sam vowed. "We just can't give up on each other."

"No matter what you might've thought, I never gave up on you, Sam," Drake uttered, and in that moment, Sam knew it was Dean talking to him. "I know it might've seemed that way, an' deep down a part of me might've wanted to, but in the end you're always going to be my brother an' I love you more than anything."

"I know." Sam smiled through the tears clouding his vision. "An' that's why we're going to win."


End file.
